Dusk and Shadows
by jibbsloversunited
Summary: Gibbs and his team step into the shadows to bait a trap. Danger and tests of loyalty await them. Their only guide is a woman with too many secrets and an agenda of her own. But, can they trust her? A Jibbs AU by Morgan72uk
1. Ab initio

A/N - well, as promised this is the new Jibbs AU. This idea sort of popped into my head as I was thinking about a darker Jen. So, er - consider yourselves warned.

Disclaimer: Yes, I know - I don't own them.

**Dusk and Shadows**

_Part 1 - Ab initio_

You didn't have to be a genius to work out that nothing good ever came out of a summons to the Director's office first thing on a Monday morning. As his team trailed along behind him Gibbs tried to work out if one of them could have got into trouble over the weekend and been foolish enough not to inform him. But he could see nothing in their faces or body language to indicate that they were feeling guilty. Even DiNozzo, a magnet for trouble if ever there was one, was looking perplexed rather than shifty. Leading him to conclude that whatever this was about – it wasn't something that his team had done, which made a change.

"He's expecting you," the Director's assistant said, waving them past. Gibbs pushed open the office door and then came to an abrupt halt when he realised just who was sitting behind the desk.

Tobias Fornell was grinning broadly, as he longed in the Director's chair. "This has to be your worst nightmare, Jethro." He said, chuckling.

"Morrow wouldn't shoot the agency in the head like that," Gibbs replied as he stepped fully into the office, his team filing in behind him. "Where is he anyway?"

"In MTAC. I started to read him in, but he decided it was 'need to know' and that he didn't." Gibbs regarded the man who, at times, he thought of as a friend. He knew Fornell wouldn't be here without a damn good reason but he wasn't a patient man at the best of times and the best of times didn't come around all that often. "What do you want Tobias?"

"Morrow said I could talk to you about re-opening an old case."

"The Bureau needs _our_ help with a case?" He knew it couldn't be that simple, it never was.

"No, this one's Army CID. I heard you have connections there."

"Not these days," Tony chipped in before retreating in the face of Gibbs' glare, "sorry boss."

Gibbs didn't like the fact that his team, not to mention Fornell, knew anything about his personal life. If he was honest he was more bothered by that, than by the reference to Hollis. But then he hadn't exactly spent a lot of time mourning her departure for Hawaii.

"So, the FBI is asking NCIS to re-open a case belonging to Army CID?" He asked, ignoring anything else – to concentrate on something that sounded very unlikely. "What's going on Tobias?"

"You might want to sit down for this," Gibbs ignored the suggestion and kept on staring at Fornell, who shrugged. "Or not." He paused for a moment and then said, "CIA's got a new Director,"

"I heard,"

"He's looking at some of their operations, needs some help."

Gibbs thought about asking which operations, but wasn't sure he wanted to know. Fornell's stint with Homeland Security had taken him into the shadows and Gibbs had been careful not to inquire too closely into what he had been doing. "He come to you for this help?"

"He can't exactly go in-house." Gibbs took a sip of his rapidly cooling coffee, reluctantly putting the pieces together.

"What does a CIA black op have to do with an old Army CID case?" Fornell didn't bother to deny that he was talking about a black op. Black ops were unsanctioned, off the books and morally dubious – it was no wonder Morrow had retreated to the relative safety of MTAC. The Director of NCIS was an astute enough politician to know that if this blew up in their faces his best bet was to put some distance between himself and whatever 'this' turned out to be. Plausible deniability was all the rage.

"If I answer that question Jethro it means you're in – all the way. I can't afford too many people knowing about this. I can't risk the CIA finding out."

"You think they haven't heard already?"

"So far three people know. I don't want to increase the numbers too much." His own rule about keeping secrets was pretty much blown to pieces already, but Gibbs could tell that wouldn't be a welcome interjection at this point. His gut was acting up, but no one had ever accused him of quitting. Well, no one other than his three ex-wives and that was totally different.

He didn't need to look at his team who he was sure were despite to find out the big secret. Instead he met Fornell's gaze and nodded once. "We're in," he said levelly.

If the answer surprised him Fornell gave no sign of it. Instead he pressed a button and a photograph of a man in uniform appeared on the screen on the opposite wall. Gibbs studied the face carefully – putting the man in his fifties; noting the intelligence and the slight tiredness in his eyes. "Colonel Jasper Shepard," Fornell said, "he died 13 years ago from a single gun shot wound to the head." Gibbs looked back over at him, not fooled for a moment by the phrasing. "It was ruled a suicide, there was no note but he'd been suspended from duty pending an investigation. The bullet came from his own gun."

"Sounds open and shut." Gibbs said, not at all certain what he was being asked to investigate here.

"His daughter is adamant he was killed."

"And is there anything to support that belief?" When Fornell didn't reply he said, "since when did we ignore the evidence in favour of what the grieving relatives say?"

"Thirteen years ago Army CID didn't look too closely – they just wanted the whole business over and done with. There might just be a reason to take a second look," Gibbs knew his expression communicated his scepticism far better than words could, "and I need his daughter's help. Her condition for giving that help is having someone else investigate her father's death. Congratulations, you're the someone."

They'd looked into cold cases before – even re-investigated cases that had been closed. But this one didn't seem all that promising. Looking over at his team he could see they looked as uninspired as he was; all except for one. "McGee," he asked, "got something you want to share?"

"I'm not sure," McGee frowned, looking at the photograph again as though that could answer the question. "I think I've heard this story before. He was working at the Pentagon, right? In arms control? And he was under investigation for accepting a bribe when he died?"

"The bribe was supposedly from an arms dealer called La Grenouile and the investigation was shelved with Shepard's death." Fornell confirmed, a flicker of grim amusement in his expression as he looked over at Gibbs. "I think Agent McGee has been reading conspiracy theory books in his spare time."

"Big surprise," Tony muttered.

"Of course," McGee breathed, his eyes lighting up as the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place. "Boss, it's from a series of books about the CIA – there is a lot of information in them about unsanctioned operations. Of course the CIA don't comment on the accusations but they aren't conspiracy theories; the research is impeccable. The books are written by someone who used to be a CIA agent, the author's name isn't given but the books are called The Shepard Report."

The repetition of that name wasn't lost on Gibbs and after all he didn't believe in coincidences. He looked over at Fornell and asked the question that begged to be asked. "Don't tell me, Jasper Shepard's daughter?"

TBC


	2. Hic sunt dracones

A/N - thanks for the reviews... Glad you're all intrigued by the storyline

**Dusk and Shadows – part 2**

Hic sunt dracones – _Here be dragons_

"How do you know this woman can be trusted?" Gibbs asked as they wove through the traffic, following Fornell's directions. It was the question that had been on his mind ever since it had become clear that one woman seemed to be at the centre of the case - in as much as it was a case at all.

"I didn't say I trusted her, I said I needed her help." Fornell grimaced as Gibbs took a particularly tight turn. "Anyone ever tell you you're a lousy driver?"

"Nope." He wasn't going to let this alone and he was pretty sure Tobias knew that. He'd learnt the hard way that going into things without the full story was a recipe for disaster. "You want to quit bitching about my driving and tell me what's really going on?"

"I did tell you," his companion grumbled. But Gibbs had made sure that his team were following in a different vehicle, knowing he stood a better chance of getting Fornell to tell him the full story if they were on their own. And he wasn't disappointed. "You ever hear of an operation called Lodestone?"

"No – one of ours?"

"CIA – Lodestone is one of the longest-running covert operations that the agency has ever had. Rumour has it that it's focused on weapons control and arms proliferation."

"You want to try that again and lose the double-speak?"

"I don't know much more than that, but from what I can tell it involves the use of an arms dealer. The CIA's collaboration with him has apparently given them unprecedented information about who is buying what – and who they are selling it to."

"Apparently?"

"Look at it another way and the CIA are protecting an arms dealer, maybe even assisting him to do business – implicating the agency in dozens of criminal acts." There wasn't much Gibbs could say in response to that. He knew that sometimes agencies had to become involved with people who were morally dubious – for the greater good. The only problem was, he didn't trust the motivations of the people who made decisions about what the greater good was.

"The Director of the CIA is being kept in the dark about his own operations?"

"Maybe not in the dark – but he's from outside, proof that the political environment has changed. Right now he doesn't want them to know what he's looking at."

"So where did he get his information about Lodestone?" Fornell answered that with a single look and the revelation drew an expletive from Gibbs.

"She's a civilian, an author – with an axe to grind. How do we know she isn't making this up so we look into her father's death?"

"She's ex CIA, she isn't just an author and she definitely has an axe to grind. I have no idea what her sources are but McGee's right, her stuff isn't fiction. She knows what shes talking about."

"Sounds like she knows more than some people on the inside."

"The CIA like to keep their secrets. I read her file; she was a damn good agent."

"You sure she's left the field?"

"She was pulled out of a mission in Cairo when the accusations against her father surfaced, there was no indication that she knew what he was doing but when he died she quit."

"And she's convinced that he was murdered?"

"Jaspar Shepard worked in weapons control, he was under investigation for accepting a bribe from an arms dealer, one who it turns out was in the pocket of the CIA. I have no idea what Shepard's work was – but he certainly crossed paths with La Grenouile and ended up dead. You think that she might have a reason to be suspicious?"

Gibbs hesitated, he wasn't one for conspiracy theories but he'd seen what people did to protect themselves, to protect operations and he guessed the woman they were on their way to meet had as well. "What do you mean she isn't just an author?" He looked over at Fornell, "is she out of the CIA or not Tobias?"

"She's an intelligence analyst – maybe the best around. I know we've used her from time to time and other agencies have as well."

"She sell her information?"

"No – she's very careful about that, as far as I know this is the only time she's asked for anything in return."

"Great," Gibbs muttered under his breath, "a conspiracy theorist with a conscience."

Getting in to see the conspiracy theorist, if that was what she was, proved to be surprisingly difficult. He was surprised when they pulled up outside a large house in a quiet Georgetown Street. Getting out of the car he took in the security cameras mounted on the outside walls – the surveillance giving him a sense of foreboding.

"It's the family home," Fornell said as they waited for the rest of the team to arrive. "Jasper Shepard's body was found in the study."

"Who found him?"

"His daughter."

The knowledge that she lived in a house where her father had committed suicide, spent her days surrounded by memories of that traumatic event was unsettling. But he was in no position to judge her, after all, he still lived in the house that had been his home with Shannon and Kelly. He knew exactly how difficult it was to let go of the past but he didn't hide away behind security devices; although the few people who knew him well might point out that he had equally stout defences.

He shook off the disquieting thoughts as DiNozzo and the others arrived. Tony at least was impressed by his surroundings, "nice digs," he commented looking around him.

"The security is extensive," he doubted that was what Tony had been talking about – but in her own way he knew Ziva was agreeing with his sentiments. Gibbs watched as she scanned her surroundings with practiced ease. "The system is a sophisticated one, there are motion detectors as well as cameras."

"Writing obviously pays well," DiNozzo glanced over at his long-suffering colleague. "Except for you apparently – why don't you live somewhere like this probie?"

"Because I haven't sold as many books," McGee replied without a flicker of rancour. "Boss, I checked on the way over here, her last two books were best-sellers."

Barring the way to the best selling author's door was a determined looking man, his weapon blatantly displayed at his hip and his response to their arrival less than welcoming. "You're back," he said to Fornell.

"I did say I would be," he turned to Gibbs, "Stanley is in charge of Ms Shepard's security. He takes the role very seriously."

"She's working," Stanley told them, nodding towards a closed door across the hallway, "not to be disturbed."

"Well, if you let her know we are here she might change her mind." On another day Gibbs might have found it amusing that the man was so obviously resisting Fornell's authority. But he was in a hurry and already frustrated by the layers of information here.

"She was unsettled after your last visit – it's hindering her recovery."

"Recovery?" He didn't like the sound of that. "You didn't mention that she was sick," he said to Fornell.

"She isn't sick," the man called Stanley growled, "two months ago someone tried to kill her. She was meeting an informant when she was ambushed, left to die in some diner in the middle of nowhere."

"You definitely didn't tell me that," Gibbs said to Fornell, who looked momentarily guilty before saying a touch defensively,

"The three men who came after her are dead, there's no way of knowing who hired them – it's not as though she doesn't have enemies."

"One of the men had links to the CIA," Stanley pointed out, clearly having made his mind up already "but the FBI aren't interested in that – unless they want something from her."

"You boss keeps dangerous company." Fornell responded.

"My boss took three bullets and lost a hell of a lot of blood, no one expected her to live." Gibbs recognised loyalty when he saw it and out of respect for that he softened his tone as he asked,

"You were with her?" Stanley shook his head.

"One of my team. He got hit in the back, didn't make it."

"He took out three men?"

"Didn't even get a shot off – she took them out."

"Three men?" DiNozzo didn't bother to hide his admiration, "the woman knows how to shoot." It wasn't a sentiment that Fornell had much time for.

"It's just as well given how many people seem to want to kill her."

"Her job is dangerous," Stanley responded, "because she tells the truth."

"No one asked her to."

"Isn't that why you're here?" Fornell opened his mouth to respond, but someone else got there first.

"If you have quite finished discussing whether I am more sinned against than sinning, perhaps you would like to tell me what you're all doing in my house?"

TBC


	3. Pacta sunt servanda

A/N - thanks for all the lovely reviews. I did think about trying to draw out the suspense for a little longer but I it's time to meet Jen

Part 3

_Pacta sunt servanda - _agreements must be kept

It probably wasn't a good sign that the sound of her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The low, husky voice was expressive and her amusement held just a little edge. He was sure he wasn't the only person to wonder how she had managed to creep up on them. But, as entrances went it was an impressive one and she had enough of a sense of drama not to overplay her hand.

Fornell bristled and he thought DiNozzo might have gulped, but as he turned around he suddenly wasn't paying attention to anyone else.

She had her father's eyes.

She was leaning against the door to the study, watching their reactions to her appearance, an elegant eyebrow raised as she waited for an answer to her question.

He'd expected her to be older – though now he thought about it he didn't know why he'd made that assumption – assumptions were dangerous after all. Her slender body was dressed in soft black clothing – which seemed to hang a little too loosely on her. But he knew from experience that injuries and lengthy periods of recuperation were often accompanied by weight loss.

It was convenient to dwell on such details, they all contributed to his overall picture of her. But there were other, not entirely salient, facts to add to that picture - that her eyes were expressive for instance and that she was beautiful in a way that had undoubtedly turned heads and brought her all kinds of attention over the years. Even now, though she was pale and possibly in pain it was difficult to stop looking at her.

"The last time we met, I said I would bring someone back with me." Fornell said, stepping forward to face her.

"You did, though I'm not sure I was expecting quite so many reinforcements. Surely you don't need all of these people just to deal with me?" Her eyes glinted with more of that amusement and it was clear just how much she was enjoying needling Fornell. Gibbs knew he should feel sorry for him, but he was enjoying the sight a little too much to intervene.

"You wanted someone independent to investigate your father's death. This is Agent Gibbs and his team – from NCIS. That's…"

"I know what NCIS is," Gibbs felt the power of the penetrating gaze that flicked over him, he met her eyes with his own – refusing to back down. But she didn't take the bait, breaking the staring contest and looking away; her lips quirking into a slight smile. "I'm not sure the Navy is entirely what I had in mind when I asked for an independent investigation."

"Believe me, Gibbs is about as independent as they come," Fornell grimaced, "I've worked with him often enough to know that." Tony's snort of amusement would earn him a head-slap later – but right now Ms Shepard was looking back towards him.

"Don't they expect Marines to follow orders?" She queried lightly, "or have you become more difficult since leaving the corps?" It was a guess, of course, but a good one.

"I follow the evidence," he told her, his eyes skittering away from what he hadn't noticed initially, the dark walking stick that she was leaning on as she stood in the doorway. A flicker of something that might have been anger told him that she'd seen his reaction and didn't particularly appreciate it. "The evidence doesn't lie, people do."

"A philosopher as well," she observed before looking back towards Tobias, "very well Agent Fornell, let's say you've met the terms of our agreement. What do you want in return?"

But before he could reply there was a quiet interjection from perhaps the only person who could say what most of them had been thinking.

"Don't you think you should continue this discussion sitting down ma'am?" In response she gave Stanley an exasperated look which, to do the man credit, he stood his ground against. "I'm just reminding you what the Doctor said."

"The Doctor said gentle exercise was a good thing."

"And you're following that advice of course."

"Of course." Gibbs thought that was about as likely as DiNozzo declaring he was giving up women. He didn't need to know anything more about her to know she would push herself to the limit, maybe beyond. But this time she gave way with surprising ease, "why don't we sit down?"

Gibbs thought it was interesting that she wasn't inviting them into the study, that she closed the door firmly behind her before slowly crossing the hallway. They all followed, careful not to show pity or sympathy at her progress, though it was clear how difficult every step was. Stanley, he noticed, didn't follow them.

The room she headed towards had bookshelves lining the walls and large patio windows that flooded it with sunshine. He glanced out of the windows and saw the tidy garden with chairs on a small deck; a pleasant spot for breakfast, or a drink at the end of the day.

"Walking is irritatingly difficult at the moment," she observed as she lowered herself onto the couch and then gestured to the other seats in the room, "make yourselves comfortable." When Gibbs didn't move she looked amused, "you really aren't good at following instructions, are you Agent Gibbs? Would it help if I said please?"

"No."

"And gracious with it," she commented, drawing an almost smile from him in response.

But Fornell wasn't the most patient of men. "Let's stop playing games," he said.

"I don't play games when it comes to the CIA." There was no levity in her tone and Gibbs knew that she was deadly serious. "There is only one person who can tell you the truth about the CIA and Lodestone." She reached over to a coffee table and plucked a file from the papers stacked there. She spread the contents, which were a series of photographs across the table top. They were, Gibbs realised, all of the same man. "Rene Benoit," she said. "You may know him as La Grenouille."

Fornell was not amused. "Why didn't I think of that?" He asked snidely, "its so obvious, get the international arms dealer to turn on his CIA handlers. Why would he? Even if we could get close to him without the CIA intervening, which we can't!" Gibbs couldn't help but be a little impressed by the way she didn't even blink at the tirade.

"It's a shame he isn't involved in something illegal that you could use as leverage," she responded, "what could the international arms dealer possibly have done wrong, an unpaid parking fine perhaps? You think if you tell him that Lodestone is blown that he won't turn on them like a shot?"

"I don't expect we'll get the chance to test that theory – the CIA are hardly going to stand by and let us arrest their prize source."

"I might have a way," she said quietly. Gibbs wasn't surprised – this was a woman who, he suspected, had schemes within schemes. "I can get you to La Grenouille without the CIA realising what is happening, I might even be able to give you enough to hold him on while you try to convince him that his interests are best served by telling you everything you want to know about Lodestone. But there's a condition."

"I've met your conditions."

"Well, I may have forgotten to mention this one. It's very simple, I'm sure Rene will want to cut a deal, immunity for his help – something like that. But, if Agent Gibbs' investigation finds that he was responsible for my father's death I want him to be charged, no immunity for that crime."

"I can't guarantee…"

"Then find someone who can." She snapped, her eyes blazing. Fornell looked mutinous for a moment and Gibbs half expected him to tell her to go to hell. But he didn't.

"I need to make a call," he said, getting to his feet and heading out to the room.

"Well, that was fun." She looked down at the photographs for a moment – her expression bleak as she gazed at the image of the man she believed had killed her father. Then, with what looked like practiced ease she pushed those emotions away. "Tell me Agent Gibbs, do your team speak – or are they purely decorative?"

"Believe me, they have more than enough to say for themselves," he snorted. But perhaps introductions were in order. "Agents McGee and DiNozzo," he said, indicating them in turn as he spoke, "and Officer David." She looked them all over, her gaze lingering on Ziva for a moment before speaking to her in another language – Hebrew he assumed. Ziva looked surprised, but then responded in the same language.

"I was just telling Officer David's that I met her father many years ago. I'm sure she's getting a great deal out of her attachment to your team." She'd identified him as a Marine, Ziva as a Mossad officer and then with some very careful wording demonstrated that she knew enough about the David family to understand why it was perhaps a good thing that she was in the US.

It was disconcerting how easily she was reading them – it was supposed to be the other way round.

TBC


	4. Alea iacta est

A/N - Thanks for the reviews. It means a lot that people are enjoying this story - and liking this Jen!

**Part 4**

_Alea iacta est – the die has been cast_

"You have a deal – again," Fornell announced as he stepped back into the room. "But if I see any sign that your obsession with La Grenouille is directing this investigation, all bets are off." She was too clever to gloat over her victory and her nod of confirmation seemed to satisfy Fornell, for now. But Gibbs had no doubt he'd be watching her like a hawk, they all would. He still had no idea whether or not he could trust her and with every passing minute it became more important to find out.

"There's someone else you need to meet." She reached for one of the photographs and in it Gibbs noticed a second man standing, just behind La Grenouille. He was younger, good looking in a sullen way.

"Who is he?" Tony leant forward to see, trying to insert himself into a conversation he had mostly been excluded from until now.

Shepard gave him a long look before replying, but as she spoke she turned her attention to Fornell – making it clear she was addressing him. "This is Trent Kort – CIA asset and in charge of certain departments within Rene's operation."

"The frog knows he's CIA?" Gibbs was already irritated by the code name and using the English version was only slightly less annoying.

"Yes, it's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"And whose side is he on?" She looked up at his question, meeting his gaze and for the first time letting some of her barriers drop – if only for a very brief moment.

"I don't know." At that revelation Fornell sucked in a breath and she sighed. "I don't think there's any way out of this investigation without doing harm. It's messy and complicated and you know what they say about he who wields the sword."

"I'm not interested in wearing crowns," Tobias responded sardonically.

"Well, that's good to know." She seemed to be genuinely relieved, clearly she was no fonder of ambitious, on the make agents than he, or indeed Fornell was. "Kort will want to protect the operation – whether that is out of loyalty to the CIA, or to protect his own interests I can't tell you. But he's dangerous." Gibbs wondered about what Stanley had told them, about the CIA being involved in the hit on her – but he didn't ask whether she thought that meant Kort, not right now.

"And we're going to get around that how?"

"I am getting to that." Fornell muttered something less than complimentary under his breath, which Gibbs suspected she had heard. He thought it was a mistake to try to rile her, and wasn't surprised by the long look she shot his colleague, before she shifted her attention. He couldn't remember the last time someone other than him had needled Fornell so effectively. It was amusing and just a little alarming. "Agent DiNozzo, something tells me you didn't come to your current role through the Navy?"

"No ma'am, I was a cop."

"A cop," she contemplated him for a moment, "a Detective?"

"Homicide," he told her – looking proud of the fact.

"And some undercover work as well I suspect?"

"A little," he gave her his most charming smile. "I blend in well."

"I'm sure you do." She didn't seem to notice that he was turning on the charm. But Gibbs thought there was a decent chance that Fornell was going to explode and finally decided to intervene.

"Is this relevant?"

"I'm not asking Agent DiNozzo about his resume just to satisfy my curiosity." She reached for another folder and drew out some more photographs. This time the subject seemed to be a woman in her early twenties. "Jeanne Benoit," she said, "Rene's youngest child. She's a junior Doctor, a little spoiled as youngest children sometimes are. She adores her father – and she has no idea what he does for a living."

"How can she not know?" Tony asked.

"Her parents divorced when she was a baby," she shrugged, "it wasn't a particularly amicable divorce yet her mother seems to have decided not to tell her the truth."

"Happy families," Fornell breathed, "makes Diane and I look normal."

"Don't count on it," Gibbs shot back, "so – how does she figure in this master plan of yours?" Shepard let her lips curl into a smile, her long, elegant hands tapping at the photograph for a moment – like a conductor he thought.

"Jeanne is single at the moment but, if she were dating someone and it was becoming serious she'd tell daddy and daddy, being an over-protective father with friends in the CIA, would check out the guy. Imagine how he'd feel if he discovered that the man his daughter was so enamoured of was an undercover NCIS agent, with links to a woman who's been obsessively pursuing him for over a decade." No one answered her, the words dropping like ice cubes into a glass. "I'm sure he'd worry that someone was going to tell his little girl the truth – of course, he might think about having the guy in question killed, he wouldn't go through with that, because it would upset Jeanne. But he knows I want revenge and he'd worry about that. So, it's just possible that he'd put in a personal appearance and well, I think if that happened, the ball would be in your court."

It was a perfectly warm day but suddenly Gibbs felt a chill. What she was suggesting was ruthless and utterly brilliant - to use her own obsession as a smokescreen, even as the deal she'd struck meant he'd be investigating the cause of that obsession. He wasn't even sure if the others had followed her thinking to the logical conclusion – hell, he wasn't even sure he had.

"We aren't using DiNozzo," Fornell said flatly.

"Well, I'm sure Agent McGee has many skills, but I don't think this is quite his cup of tea. Officer David is very beautiful and I suspect she's no stranger to undercover work – but she isn't exactly Jeanne's type. And though she is a daddy's girl, she's shown no sign of looking for a father figure," her gaze travelled from Fornell to Gibbs, "so we don't have a lot of options here."

"We'll use a FBI Agent," Fornell said, looking offended.

"We can't risk any paths leading back to you. We use DiNozzo and the path leads back to Agent Gibbs – who seems to be investigating my father's death and everyone knows how relentless I am." Gibbs had to acknowledge that she was right.

"Tobias, it makes sense to keep you out of it. Let them think she's persuaded a difficult agent, who's known for having no respect for authority, to look into her father's death. They see that and they aren't going to think this is about Lodestone."

"I didn't bring you on board for this," he protested and though Gibbs opened his mouth Shepard got their first.

"This is exactly why you brought him on board. This will only work if we keep the circle as small and as tight as possible." She looked over at Gibbs and then at his team, "too many people know already."

"If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. DiNozzo gets back up when he's undercover and my team investigate your father's death the way we would investigate any other case."

"And how do I know your people can be trusted?"

"The same way I know you can be trusted." She quirked an eyebrow at that and gave nothing away. Though she could have pointed out that neither of them seemed to trust all that easily. But perhaps she didn't have to.

"Well, then this is going to be an interesting experience – for both of us."

Tobias clearly hadn't planned to be squeezed out of the investigation and Gibbs knew there was very little chance that he would allow himself to be side-lined. But they'd have to be careful about how they kept him up to date. She was right about too many people being involved – the best way to keep a secret was to keep it to yourself after all. But that wasn't going to work in this instance.

He glanced over at DiNozzo who was already looking smug about being offered a plum under-cover role. He wanted to believe that his agent could handle this, Tony certainly seemed to have no doubts about his abilities, but that wasn't always the best guide. "You have more information about this woman?"

"I can brief you."

"Boss, I don't need…" a single look shut DiNozzo up, though Gibbs was sure that he'd been about to say that he didn't need advice on how to approach women.

"He'll need a cover – a good one, but not too good." Gibbs said, knowing that Abby would be more than capable of creating something appropriate. In the mean time they could start looking into Jasper Shepard's death, the records of the investigation would need to be 'borrowed' from Army CID and not just those that McGee could find using some computer programme.

"You'll arrange that?" He tilted his head and didn't bother answering the question. Summoning his team with a single look he headed for the door, leaving Fornell to mutter some sort of goodbye.

"Agent Gibbs?" He turned back as Shepard slowly got to her feet, her sense of frustration at the weakness of her body palpable. "You'll keep me informed about the findings of your investigation into my father's death?" Normally he'd give some sort of vague assurances and, hopefully, be able to tell the family concerned that they had caught whoever was responsible. He took seriously the need of those left behind to have answers, some measure of justice. But this woman was different. Even though he was sure she needed answers just as much as anyone else in her position would, he was wary of making her promises that she might use against him.

He knew the others were waiting in the doorway, watching them. But he pushed the awareness of them away, focussed all of his attention on her. "How far would you be prepared to go, to get him?"

She had the honesty and the strength to take his question seriously and the guile not to answer.

"How far would you go, Agent Gibbs – if you were in my place?" There was nothing in her voice that betrayed any awareness of just how personal that question was for him. But the memories were roused whether she had intended it or not and some element of the pain must have slipped through his defences. Her expression changed, though the question in her eyes wasn't one he had any intention of answering.

But that didn't matter – because he was back on the side of that hill, rubble digging into his chest, dust caked onto his skin. He remembered the mechanical precision with which he went about acquiring his target and the feeling of emptiness he'd had since waking from his coma, which didn't leave when he pulled the trigger.

"Wrong answer," he told her as he turned away.

TBC


	5. Fiat justitia ruat caelum

A/N - thanks for the reviews.

**Part 5**

_Fiat justitia ruat caelum** - **let justice be done, though the heavens fall_

The low buzz of activity resounded throughout MTAC, but Gibbs found the Director easily despite the shadows and slipped into one of the seats beside him.

"Jethro," Morrow greeted – his eyes never leaving the screen and the operation unfolding across it. "What can I do for you?"

"Anyone asks, and I mean anyone, I'm looking into an old Army CID case – favour for a friend."

"Any friend in particular?" He asked, looking at Gibbs for the first time. Since 'friend' was how they sometimes referred to other agencies it was clear that there were several different pieces of information being shared all at the same time.

"A woman," Morrow snorted.

"Wouldn't be a red head by any chance?" He wasn't planning to answer that. But he'd already realised that if Shepard could use her obsession to gain them some cover, then he could use his history with red heads to make it convincing that this one had persuaded him to look into her father's death. "Those people, who might be asking me what you're doing, anything else they should know?"

"That the second 'b' stands for bastard." Morrow had made it clear that he didn't want to know, he understood how to take cover when he had to. But Gibbs couldn't afford to have him mention that there even was a case that Fornell had tried to read him in on. It was safer this way, he told himself, though it meant that he was effectively operating without a safety net – unless Jenny Shepard had one that she hadn't told him about yet.

As he stepped into the lab Abby smiled happily. "I told you," she said to the rest of the team, clearly she'd just announced his arrival. "Drum roll please McGee."

McGee made a feeble attempt at complying – which improved when Abby shot him a look, though that just made Tony cough and say "McWhipped" into his hand. Not that Abby cared.

"Ta da!" She pressed a couple of keys on her keyboard and a driving licence photograph of Tony appeared. Although it was Tony, but not Tony. He was wearing glasses and his hair was flattened a little.

"You look shleppy," Ziva observed – making them all frown as they tried to figure out what she meant.

"That's preppy," Tony supplied and then he turned to the others, "I don't think I look _preppy_, do I?" Apparently that hadn't been the effect he'd been hoping for.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs had already heard enough – but Abby was an experienced peacemaker.

"You look very handsome," she told him and he preened happily at the compliment.

"Tony DiNardo," Gibbs said as he lent close enough to read the name on the license. "Is there more Abs?"

"Of course oh great one. Professor DiNardo here lectures on film studies." Ziva rolled her eyes at this news and Tony grinned broadly.

"It's one of my many areas of expertise Ziva,"

"If using movie references at every possible opportunity makes you an expert."

"Tony's flat and car are now registered in the name of DiNardo, as well as the license there is a University ID and a couple of credit cards." Abby handed over a cell phone, "this is your new cell phone."

"Will the cover hold Abby?" Ziva asked.

"It will stand up – just not to in-depth scrutiny. It's not my best work Gibbs."

"I know, it doesn't have to be." But it did have to be good enough to look as though it was intended to be convincing. "Good work Abs," he kissed her on the cheek and turned to leave.

His next stop was autopsy. "What do you have for me Ducks?" He asked as he stepped through the doors.

"Without a body not a great deal." Ducky replied, looking up at him from the papers he had been studying, "but perhaps indications of a not too thorough investigation into the death of the late Colonel Shepard."

"That mean they got it wrong?"

"I don't know – there was certainly considerable haste in ruling his death a suicide, but then I am sure it looked open and shut. The autopsy wasn't the most detailed I've ever seen."

"Get Abby to reconstruct the scene," Gibbs said, "see if the angles work for a suicide. The case files include some interviews with the people who knew and worked with him, I can have Ziva and McGee go through them."

"And what will you be doing?" Ducky asked. It was a good question. He'd told Shepard that he'd follow the evidence, but what if was no evidence to be followed? He knew there was one person who could tell them about those last days, but that he should probably be the one to ask.

He looked over at his old friend, someone whose judgement he trusted. "Feel like a field trip?" He asked.

This time there was no sign of Stanley, but Gibbs knew he hadn't abandoned his duties, since the cameras tracked their path to the door. He looked over at his companion, hoping that between them they would be able to draw some information out of the woman who sat at the heart of this fortress. But he had no illusions that it would be easy.

She'd been on his mind a little too much and, though he wasn't planning on admitting it, last night on his way home he'd found himself in a late night bookstore with a copy of her book under his arm.

He'd tried to skim it with bourbon and the boat for company – but it wasn't the kind of book you could skim. Reluctantly he'd conceded that she could write. He could almost hear her voice in some parts – dry and amused, or alternatively full of ice. But that hadn't been the only thing that had drawn him in. Her argument, the compelling evidence she'd compiled had played their part and it had been very difficult to put the book aside to get some sleep.

Her position had surprised him; not outright condemnation of black ops but a recognition that sometimes you needed to get your hands dirty, though that should never equate to a license to proceed without question. It was closer to how he felt that he'd expected. Her evidence showed how a culture of secrecy and a lack of accountability led to operations taking a on life of their own, existing for reasons everyone had lost sight of in a place where they could never be questioned – defended for the sake of the status quo.

"Why am I here Jethro?" Ducky asked as they waited by the door.

"She found the body, we're interviewing a witness." But Ducky wasn't easily convinced and Gibbs knew it would do no good to try to deceive him. "And I need a second opinion."

"About the woman? Or about the case?"

This time they were allowed into the study. The young woman who had opened the door to them led them back to the room where Shepard was working, sitting behind the desk with papers spread out before her and a lap top within reach.

"Jenny, there's an Agent Gibbs here to see you?"

It was a larger room than he'd expected, with a desk in front of the windows and wingback chairs by the fire. He'd seen the photographs of the scene – knew that Jasper Shepard had died in this very room and still he didn't know what it said about her that she was working in here.

Not that he expected her to answer that question. He already knew that she was a woman who didn't give up her secrets easily. She looked up, setting her glasses aside. "It's alright Cynthia – I've been expecting him." Her smile was genuine and the young woman nodded and collected her bag and a coat from a nearby chair. "On your way out would you ask Noemi to bring us some coffee?"

"I can ask," she said, with a hint of a grin, "but she said no coffee if you didn't eat your lunch." She looked pointedly at a plate on the desk, which looked untouched. "You know how she feels about you not eating her meals."

"Do your best." Shepard pushed herself up from the desk and with the aid of her stick walked slowly around the desk. "Everyone is very concerned about my health these days," she observed. Gibbs could imagine her frustration, wasn't sure in her place he'd be reining it in as well as she seemed to be. She held out her hand as she reached Ducky, "Jenny Shepard,"

"Donald Mallard." As they shook hands he said, "it's a great pleasure to meet you my dear. I read your most recent book a few months ago and enjoyed it very much. I was particularly interested in your observations on…" Gibbs watched with considerable amusement as Ducky, all the time talking about something she had written, tucked his hand under her arm and led her to the chairs. He settled her into one of them and then took the other himself – all with such care and ease her injury was hardly apparent.

He wasn't really listening to their conversation, but he was watching. She was smiling, a little of her tension easing. Gibbs had seen Ducky do this on countless occasions – but it intrigued him now. He hadn't expected that Ducky would relate to her so easily, that she would respond so readily to his particular brand of charm.

"Jethro – are you joining us?" The question interrupted his musing and he realised that he'd been watching them and hadn't moved from his spot by the door.

"I don't think Agent Gibbs likes to sit," there was a slight teasing tone to her voice and Ducky chuckled.

"I've noticed that as well," he confided.

But before Gibbs could defend himself there was a soft knock on the door and a woman in a housekeepers uniform entered carrying a tray with cups and a pot of coffee. As she set it down she handed a bottle of pills to Shepard. "It is time for these."

"Thank you Noemi," the housekeeper shot a look at her as she collected the lunch plate. "I wasn't hungry." She sounded contrite, as though she didn't want to hurt the woman's feelings by not eating.

"You said that yesterday. You need to eat. I am making soup, perhaps you'll eat later?"

"I'll try." As concessions went it sounded genuine and Noemi nodded in approval.

As Ducky busied himself with pouring the coffee, Gibbs thought about how to raise the reason for their visit but she got there first, looking up at him and remarking, "I imagine this isn't a social call."

"Dr Mallard is the ME attached to my team. He's been reviewing the details of the autopsy performed on your father. We have some questions."

"Have you found something?" Gibbs watched as her fingers tightened around the coffee cup. He accepted a cup as well and took a sip while he considered his answer. The coffee was dark and strong and it was difficult to avoid making the inevitable comparison.

"So far there isn't much to find, seems they decided it was suicide pretty quickly."

"And you've decided they were right?" There was that edge again. But he wasn't planning to let her get to him the way she had got to Fornell. He shrugged,

"I'm not making any decisions until I have more information." His answer surprised her – he caught a flicker of it before she locked her emotions away. He ignored the way his pulse kicked up a notch at the knowledge that he was starting to be able to read her. "When was the last time you spoke to your father Ms Shepard?"

"Jenny," she corrected, wrinkling her nose. "Ms Shepard makes me sound like a school teacher." He wasn't going there, or anywhere close, because he was damn sure that none of his teachers had looked like her. He was suddenly very glad he'd brought Ducky with him instead of DiNozzo. "I last spoke to him on the morning of the day he died. I'd been checking in with him more often since his suspension."

"Because you were worried about him?" She nodded and Gibbs could tell by her reaction just how reluctant she was to concede that he might have killed himself. But she was too intelligent not to realise how it looked. "He was a proud man with a spotless record. I know it's easy to assume he killed himself because he couldn't face the shame, but that wasn't how he sounded that morning. He was shocked by the allegations – not resigned to his fate."

"What happened?"

"I called him late in the afternoon, I was supposed to come by for dinner but I was running late. He didn't answer and I assumed he was in the garden or had gone for a walk."

"You weren't living here?"

"I'd been out of the country for most of the year and when I came back I rented an apartment."

"Did your father know you'd joined the CIA?"

"No." Her voice wavered and her eyes flashed. He couldn't tell if she was angry at the question or at her response to it. He wanted to know why she had kept that particular secret but this wasn't the moment to ask. She took a sip of her coffee before continuing, "he was dead when I got here. He'd been dead for several hours."

"Had he mentioned anyone else during those last few days? Had anyone been in touch, or come to visit him?" Her laugh was bitter,

"Most of his so called friends were busy keeping their distance in case they were implicated by association. There was a Russian Army Colonel he worked closely with – they were friends, I think. I know he called my father. They were working together to dispose of weapons at the time he was supposed to have taken a bribe."

"Do you have his name?"

"Colonel-General Dimitri Borov. I don't know if he's still alive, when I was in Moscow to see him last year he was very sick." He didn't comment on the fact that she had travelled to Moscow to see a man who had known her father.

"Did you ask him about your father?" Ducky asked gently – he'd been quiet and still throughout their conversation, Gibbs had almost forgotten he was there.

"It took me years to find him and when I finally tracked him down to the hospital he told me the allegations were true, that he and my father had been bribed by La Grenouille, to look the other way as he stole the weapons they were supposed to be disposing of."

"Did you believe him?" She didn't answer that and Gibbs supposed he couldn't blame her for the evasion.

"He also told me that my father was still alive, that he'd visited the hospital just weeks before." He honestly hadn't been expecting that. "The source that helped me locate him was one I'd used before but when I got back I did some checking. Borov's hospital bills were being paid by a company that had some very loose connections to La Grenouille and my source turned out to have worked with Kort for a few months."

She smiled a tight, bitter smile, before observing, "they like to play mind games." He waited, watching her – knowing she was slipping back to those darkest of days. "I found my father's body Agent Gibbs, saw the damage a single bullet can do up close, felt for a pulse knowing I wouldn't find one. Then I buried him."

She put her cup back onto the saucer and Ducky reached over and touched her hand lightly – as though he was drawing her back to the present from her memories. "Some fresh air I think," he said lightly. "Would you do me the honour of a turn around your garden?" She nodded, perhaps grateful for the arm he offered as she got to her feet. "Are you joining us Jethro?"

"I'll pass." He watched their progress, noticing that Shepard, Jenny, was moving a little easier today. She and Ducky seemed to be talking as they wandered slowly around the garden, their heads close together as though they were sharing confidences. He had no idea what her prognosis was – whether or not she would make a full recovery from her injuries. Perhaps Ducky would be able to ask her.

She hadn't given him much to go on, though her phone call had narrowed the timeframe for her father's death. He'd have Ziva check out Borov – see what her contacts could tell them. He didn't know if finding that the Russian was in the pay of La Grenouille made it more or less likely that Jasper Shepard had been killed. But it did make it conceivable that he had known more than he should have.

He was waiting in the hallway when she and Ducky returned from their walk. "You need to get your rest my dear," Ducky told her, though Gibbs had his doubts about whether she would take his advice.

As they headed for the front door, she called him back. For a moment he thought she might be about refer to what had passed between them as he was leaving the day before. But that wasn't it. "I wasn't expecting you to take this so seriously." She looked down at the ground as she spoke – but then looked up, her eyes meeting his and the emotion in them nearly sent him reeling. "Thank you."

There was nothing he could say in response, so he just nodded. "I'll be back tomorrow, with DiNozzo. The cover's ready. I thought we could brief him together." He sounded more than a little gruff but she didn't seem to notice.

"I have some information about Jeanne that would help, it makes sense to pool our resources. I'll see you tomorrow Agent Gibbs, goodbye Ducky." Gibbs wasn't surprised that Ducky was no longer Dr Mallard and he hesitated over allowing her the same familiarity; but not for very long.

"Jethro," he offered.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jethro."

Ducky was waiting for him outside, an eyebrow raised in a question it was much better that he didn't voice. But Gibbs hadn't brought him along to have him stay quiet.

"So what did you think?"

"She's consumed by her father's death, though I'm sure you realise that." Gibbs nodded, in no position to judge her, because he understood that obsession. "It's driven the path she took, the choices she made." As they pulled away he thought again of the book he had read. The subject had nothing to do with Lodestone, but her father's death had led her to a place where she exposed the CIA's secrets, made herself enemies within its ranks. But Ducky hadn't finished his observations.

"Of course, I can't tell you if she's seeking the truth, or her revenge. I'm not sure she can answer that question, though I believe she has insight enough to know the two may be incompatible. I did like her, she has a mind of remarkable insight and subtlety and she obviously inspires a certain loyalty."

"Seems that way," Gibbs agreed thinking of Stanley.

"I imagine she's good company - and of course she's attractive."

"You think she's attractive?"

"That's scarcely doing her justice, many men would say she was beautiful."

"Including you?"

"I'm not quite dead yet, though I think I prefer to admire from a safe distance. Others might be more intrepid." There was a hint there - or at least an invitation to some kind of confidence. For once Gibbs was grateful that he was a man of few words. Silence seemed by far the better option.

TBC


	6. veritate et virtute

A/N - thanks for the reviews.

**Part 6**

_veritate et virtute - with truth and courage_

From somewhere adrift on an ocean of pain, Jenny Shepard heard a cheerful voice announce, "he's here again." She opened her eyes to see her research assistant leaning against the door wearing a bright smile.

"Don't lose focus," the physical therapist insisted. "Come on Jenny, five more!" Dan was a sadist, she'd been sure of it when they'd started working together and nothing in the last few weeks had made her change her mind.

"Who?" She gritted her teeth and forced herself through a couple more repetitions of the exercise; she was as weak as a kitten not to mention surprisingly uncoordinated.

"Agent Gibbs. He has a different colleague with him today."

"Agent DiNozzo," Jen supplied, pushing herself a little more. Cynthia had been curious about her visitors the day before and there had been no reason not to tell her they were from NCIS.

"He has nice eyes." Cynthia commented.

"Agent DiNozzo?" That was a complication they could do without given the reason for his presence.

"Agent Gibbs," she replied before adding with the guileless confidence of youth. "I know he's old – but he's good looking, surely you noticed?"

"Tell them I'll be down in 10 minutes – ask Noemi to give them coffee." She managed, refusing to confirm or deny that she had noticed anything about Agent Gibbs.

"She noticed!" Dan threw over his shoulder towards Cynthia. Definitely a sadist.

It was closer to 15 minutes when she made her way downstairs with a far too curious Dan at her shoulder. She was worn out from the exercises and grateful for his steadying hand under her elbow as she negotiated her way down the stairs. But she hated the fact that something as simple as climbing up and down stairs in her own house was complicated and required assistance to accomplish.

She could deal with the pain; it was the dependency on others that was eating away at her. Noemi was gentle and kind – but Jenny knew she had been independent for a long time, had never accepted help easily and that hadn't changed.

Faced with the countless limitations of her body it was difficult to remember that she should be grateful to be alive. At least being alive right now meant she had a chance to find the answers that she had sought for so long. Though she knew that the involvement of first the FBI and now NCIS made finding those answers both easier and more complicated.

That particular contradiction didn't come with any easy answers and it certainly wasn't helped by another complication - her reaction to Agent Gibbs.

Jenny wasn't prepared to categorise or put a name to what she felt; to do so would make it far more real. But she imagined Cynthia would be gratified to know that she had indeed noticed his eyes, not to mention quite a few other parts of him.

There was no denying the frisson of awareness that had passed between them – the low buzz of attraction that she hadn't felt in quite a while. The timing was lousy but she wasn't planning on letting anything come of it, so there was no real harm in enjoying the feeling while it lasted. A pleasurable reminder that she was a woman – which was also salt in her wounds.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said as she stepped into the kitchen. Noemi seemed to be enjoying having visitors who appreciated her cooking. DiNozzo had a mouthful of biscuit and the crumbs in front of Agent Gibbs, Jethro, indicated that he had sampled them as well. When DiNozzo started to get to his feet, she waved him back down, "I need a quick word with Agent Gibbs." On her way out she picked up half a biscuit from the plate – seeing the way her housekeeper's face lit up at the indication that her appetite was returning.

"Something wrong?" Gibbs asked as he followed her into the living room.

She paused, weighing her words with care, not sure how receptive he would be to what she was about to suggest. "DiNozzo's never gone undercover like this," she said. It wasn't a question – she'd done her research, though she didn't want him to know just how much she had found out about him or his team. It was what she did after all.

"What's your point Jen?" If she was surprised by his sudden use of her name, even though she'd given him permission, she was floored by the diminutive. No one called her Jen.

"He has no idea what this entails, not really." She took a step away, turning to look out of the windows.

"It was your idea to involve him." She could have pointed out that he hadn't exactly vetoed the idea – but this wasn't the time for recriminations.

"He needs to be told what we're asking him to do is cruel and sordid – not heroic and glamorous. I wanted to check with you first."

"I can prepare him." She smiled at that, it was exactly what she'd been expecting him to say and it was also the reason she couldn't let him do this.

"He won't want to disappoint you and if you alienate him now he won't come to you if he needs help later on. It doesn't matter if he resents me." She cast a quick look over her shoulder, reading the conflict in his expression. "I'm trying not to damage your team Jethro, at least let me make sure DiNozzo knows what he is getting into. Anything else is down to you." His nod was reluctant and all the permission she was going to get. But he wasn't done.

"He won't hate you," Gibbs said just before he retreated, presumably to summon DiNozzo. "He's smarter than that."

Gibbs hadn't expected her to even come close to understanding how he felt about his team, let alone want to try to protect that. Her generosity and insight was unexpected and just added to the complex and intriguing picture he was forming of her – which just piqued his interest even more. If she was trying to keep him at arms length she was doing a lousy job of it.

"Professor Tony DiNardo at your service." DiNozzo was wearing the glasses and he did seem to look different – but the cocky grin wasn't exactly reassuring and Gibbs knew that Jenny was right. He had no idea of what was being asked of him, how it would make him feel.

"Professor of what?" she hadn't moved from her position in front of the windows but her voice had altered, the note of derision in it perfectly judged to push at DiNozzo.

"Film studies," he shrugged with false modesty. "I'm a bit of an expert."

"For the purposes of this operation it would be more useful if you were an expert at relationships." She wasn't wasting any time and Gibbs knew there was a decent chance that whatever came next was going to be unpleasant. "Do you think it's funny that so many of the women you've slept with dislike you Agent DiNozzo? Does it bother you at all that across your trail of one night stands and short liaisons there are very few women who have anything good to say about you?"

"I don't think that's true."

"I'm sure you don't. But you aren't exactly unbiased." She turned, leaning heavily on her stick and gestured towards a file. "Everything I know about Jeanne Benoit is in that file – she's bright, compassionate, a little insecure. Her last relationship was with a cop, she ended it because she didn't fee he was committed to their relationship. She isn't interested in one-night stands; she won't be attracted to a man who only dates women who look like swimsuit models. This isn't about whether or not you can get her into bed."

"I know that," a little of his bravado had slipped away – but Gibbs knew she hadn't quite got through to him, though she was close.

"Do you?" That long penetrating look told him she was trying to work out how much further she had to push. Gibbs almost wished he'd stepped out of the room for this, but he knew he couldn't do that. "You go out to bars, find a willing body, take her home with you. You've been doing it for a long time, you don't even think about what it means anymore. Your only substantive relationships are with your team, the only women that you have relationships with that are about more than sex are your female colleagues. And that's probably not for the want of trying. Agent Gibbs thinks you might just have some substance and if he's right about that, this case is going to hurt like hell. If you can do what we need you to do, Jeanne Benoit will come to care about you and you'll care about her. You'll make love to her – not have sex, you might even think that you're in love with her, dream about building a life together. You'll want to be the man she sees when she looks at you – but you aren't. It's a lie. Everything you do together, every moment you spend with her will be a lie. You will be betraying her – but to convince her, you'll need to believe."

No one could accuse her of sugar-coating things and despite the way she'd ripped apart DiNozzo's character there was something in the way she'd done it that told Gibbs she'd taken no pleasure in the act. It was up to DiNozzo now.

He'd seen Tony look like this before, it was the reason he was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt on so many occasions. But only in this moment did he really understand that if DiNozzo was going to do this properly, there was very little chance he would emerge unscathed.

"He's heard enough," he told her. She looked them over, nodding once and letting the silence linger.

"Tante Jenny!" The cry and the appearance of the small girl broke the moment. The child hurtled across the room and flung herself into Jenny's arms, chattering away to her in French. It took Gibbs a moment to realise that she was responding in the same language.

What he did notice was the way that Jenny transformed as she hugged the child. Everything about her seemed to lighten and her smile made his heart thud against his chest in a way that was almost painful.

He was so engrossed in watching them that he came close to missing DiNozzo's exit. It made sense that he wanted some time to think things through, the sudden transformation of the mood just underlined how sombre and painful their previous discussion had been. He was pretty convinced the younger man would be back.

"Qui êtes-vous?" The child was looking at him – her eyes wide. His rudimentary grasp of the language meant he understood the question – but it had been a long time since he had been stationed in Europe and he wasn't sure how much further he'd be able to follow her.

"I'm Jethro," he told her – hoping she spoke English.

"Bonjour Jethro." He smiled, drawing a smile from her in response, though almost at once she buried her head in Jenny's side and peeped out at him.

"Apparently she's a little shy," Jenny observed, ruffling the girl's hair tenderly.

"Gigi, at least let her sit down." The voice from the doorway belonged to a man about Jenny's age, his suit was expensive but understated and he wore it easily – as though the wealth was natural. And yet there was just something about him that told Gibbs he wasn't to be easily dismissed.

"Don't worry Cole," Jenny extricated herself from the child's grasp for long enough to sit down on the couch, although Gigi nestled back into her straight away. "Jethro, this is my god daughter Gigi and her father Coleman Garrett. Jethro and I work together."

Garrett's handshake was firm; though he eyes didn't leave Jenny or his daughter for very long. The child clearly hadn't inherited her colouring from him, he was fair while Gigi had dark eyes, a tumble of unruly, dark curls and skin the colour of caramel. She looked about six or seven; almost unwillingly Gibbs remembered Kelly at that age – still very much a little girl; she'd loved school, animals and Princesses.

"Sorry for the interruption," Garrett said, "she couldn't wait to tell Jenny about her day at school."

"It's all right." He was enjoying watching them, though the way Gigi was holding tightly onto her godmother made him think that the child was struggling to deal with the shooting and how close she had come to losing someone she clearly adored.

"Noemi's been making biscuits," Jenny told her, winding a curl around her finger and tugging it playfully, "I bet she'd let you have one – just one though, you don't want to ruin dinner."

This suggestion was met with an enthusiastic scramble, though she was careful to avoid her godmother's injured side. Her father went with her – presumably to make sure that she kept to one biscuit.

"Sorry," Jenny shrugged when they were alone again, "she's been very clingy since I got out of hospital. Cole's been bringing her over every day – she needs lots of reassurance."

"It's understandable," Gibbs couldn't help wondering how well she knew Garrett, what their relationship involved beyond Gigi – but he wasn't planning to ask.

"Is DiNozzo coming back?"

"Yes," He wasn't surprised that she'd noticed his departure and he knew he sounded more certain than he felt; but she took him at his word.

"Then how about some more coffee?" She offered.

Gigi was holding court in the kitchen. Her school-books were spread out on the table as she told Noemi and her father about her day, switching back between English and French in a way that seemed entirely natural. Jenny watched from the doorway smiling softly again and Gibbs failed to resist the need to let his hand brush her shoulder as he leaned closer to ask, "where's her mother?"

"A long-term care facility nearby, Claudine had a massive stroke when she was in labour with Gigi and she's never recovered."

"She's French?" Jenny nodded,

"Cole met her when he was posted over there with the State Department." Well, that explained the sleek, well-fed look – though he wouldn't wish such a tragedy on anyone.

"He really isn't so bad, for a diplomat." Apparently some of his thoughts had been transparent, but she didn't seem to be offended. "Though I have known him since I was four. His father was a friend of my dads."

"Was he around when he died?" He asked, his mind straying back to the investigation.

"Cole was overseas and his parents retired to Florida." She didn't get any further, Noemi realised they were there and bustled around to make the coffee, Cole got to his feet and guided her to the table – insisting that she sit down. Gibbs felt the sudden distance but didn't do anything about it. Uncertain what it meant that she was getting under his skin.

He wasn't surprised when Cole took her place beside him. "FBI?" He asked.

"No," Gibbs didn't feel inclined to share too much, but he didn't miss the way Jenny looked up – her eyes narrowing as she saw them standing together. He also didn't think that Garrett was asking out of idle curiosity, they clearly shared an interest in the same woman. Gibbs hadn't realised he'd given that much away – but perhaps Garrett recognised the signs.

"A man of few words I see,"

"I let my actions speak for me."

"Nothing wrong with that," Gibbs followed his gaze as it rested on Jenny. "She told me someone was looking into her father's death. I'm guessing that's you?" He didn't answer that and Garrett didn't seem to expect him to. "She's seemed better these last few days." The warning he expected didn't come. Instead Garrett lowered his voice to a whisper and added, "she hasn't been beyond the garden since she got out of hospital. See if you can get her out of the house, even for a couple of hours. I think it would do her good."

Gibbs didn't know why she hadn't left the house, though he meant to find out. But it spoke well for the man that Garrett was prepared to tell him about it, putting his care for her above his own ego. He watched Jenny, trying to understand how she evoked such a multitude of feelings in him and apparently all those around her. She looked up as though she was aware of his gaze, or even the direction of his thoughts. Their eyes met and the pull at his senses was stronger this time. The moment lasted until Gigi claimed her attention again.

"Boss," the sound of Tony's voice dragged his attention away from her and he stepped back into the hallway to face his senior field officer. DiNozzo still looked pale and shaken – making Gibbs wonder just how much soul-searching he had done. "She isn't exaggerating – is she?" It was a question that deserved an honest answer.

"No."

"I'll need help,"

"You'll get it."

"OK then," Gibbs glanced back towards the kitchen and found that Jenny was standing in the doorway, watching them. DiNozzo looked away – obviously still smarting from her attack but Gibbs held her gaze with his own. Her eyes were fathomless, the depth of her right there for him to see. He sensed the darkness and the shadows, but also her light and warmth. The balance between the two was enthralling.

"He's ready." He told her and hoped for all their sakes that he was right.

TBC


	7. Acta est fabula plaudite

A/N - thanks for the reviews.

**Part 7**

_acta est fabula plaudite - The play has been performed; applaud!_

"I do not like this," Ziva said, her eyes never leaving the street entrance to the out of the way bar on the quiet Georgetown street. It wasn't the first time she had made her misgivings clear and McGee was relieved when the ringing of his cell phone prevented him from having to find a response.

"It's Abby," he said, pressing the button to put her on speaker.

"So, what's she like?" Abby demanded, her curiosity filling the confined space of the car.

"She has not arrived yet," Ziva responded. "Perhaps she will stand Tony up."

"Not the frog spawn. I meant Jenny Shepard. It's not fair – you've all met her and I haven't, so I need to know." McGee looked over at his companion, noticing the way that her jaw had tightened. It was clear that she was not happy about her partner going undercover without her. Since he wasn't suicidal, he had no intention of mentioning it, but he made a mental note to talk to Abby in the morning, make sure she directed her questions to him. "She's inside with Gibbs isn't she?"

McGee could imagine Abby's excitement and he had to admit that he had been surprised when Gibbs had announced that he and Shepard would be inside the bar during Tony's crucial first date with Jeanne Benoit. "Is she pretty McGee?" He was thinking about how to answer that, because he wasn't sure 'pretty' was how he would describe the woman in question.

"Not exactly," he responded, "beautiful perhaps."

He knew what Abby was thinking, why she was excited; Gibbs plus beautiful red head equaled well, actually none of them knew what it equaled – that was the point.

"She is dangerous," Ziva supplied and McGee wasn't surprised when Abby fell silent, because what kind of woman would Ziva describe as 'dangerous'?

* * *

Gibbs had no idea how Tony had met Jeanne Benoit and persuaded her to have a drink with him. All he knew was that somehow they had bumped into each other, fallen into conversation and she had agreed to join him for a drink. It had probably taken Tony less time to get her to agree to the drink than it had taken Gibbs to persuade Jenny Shepard to leave her house.

He'd had to test what Garrett had told him, see if it was a deliberate decision or just the circumstances of her injuries and recuperation; though he'd started this particular investigation with Stanley, rather than the woman herself.

If it had taken the man a worryingly short term to unburden himself, once the question had been asked, Gibbs put that down to loyalty and worry. Jenny Shepard had indeed not left her house since she was discharged from hospital and though there had been some weeks when her injuries had made it impossible for her to leave; that was no longer the case.

His first thought was that she was worried that whoever had tried to kill her would return to finish the job. But that explanation only lasted until he appeared at her door to tell her about the date. The look on her face told him that it wasn't her own security she was worried about.

So he had planted himself in front of her, giving every indication of not planning to leave without her and perhaps her acquiescence was evidence that she believed that he would be able to look after himself.

Now, sitting across a small table from her, watching her gaze into the depths of a glass of bourbon he knew that he was going to ask her about it – unless she got there first.

"The last time I left my house four men died – three of them at my hand."

"I'm not superstitious," he pointed out, "wouldn't have thought you were either."

"Not so much superstitious as unlucky." He could have taken issue with that, she was alive after all but he didn't think this was the moment to mention it. "I don't want anyone else to die because of me."

"We don't always get to chose Jen," she looked up at that, watched him for a moment before returning her attention to her drink. "Turning your house into a fortress and holing up there isn't much of a solution."

"What difference does it make? I can't drive myself at the moment and walking isn't exactly easy – I'm not going far."

"You're here," he pointed out and this time when she looked up she held his gaze.

"I am."

Jenny knew he had got his own way about that with remarkable ease. He hadn't pressed his point, just turned up at her door an hour ago with the news that the date was happening – and then waited her out.

It had taken her a glass of bourbon before she was prepared to admit that her desire to see this moment for herself outweighed her dread at putting someone else at risk.

She thought he understood, saw the barest sign of it in his expression and he did offer to drive – so there was no need for her to rely on Stanley.

It wasn't like her to explain her actions or motives to strangers, especially when they hadn't asked. But he wasn't just anyone and here she was, sitting in a corner of the bar, watching the quiet confidence of his movements and wondering why his hands were calloused.

"DiNozzo's here," he said quietly and she watched him track the younger man's progress across the bar. "Don't suppose you have a fall back plan in case she stands him up?"

"Agent McGee?" She offered, not entirely serious.

"Good luck with that."

"Well, she might like you too much." She watched his hands, saw the way they faltered however briefly, at her words. When she looked up his eyes were twinkling with amusement.

"I thought she didn't like older men."

"Perhaps I don't want to give her the opportunity to prove me wrong."

* * *

Tony DiNozzo sipped his drink and tried not to let his attention stray to the handsome couple across the bar. Their heads were close together, the conversation appearing to flow easily. If he didn't know who they were, what would he see when he looked at them?

He envied them that ease, had no idea how he was going to imitate it when Jeanne got here. He knew his looks, his smile and a little humour had got him this date – but it would take more than that to transform a quick date into something more serious. The trouble was, he didn't know if he was capable of the something more – and there was every chance that Jeanne would take one look at him and realise as much.

His gaze strayed back to Gibbs and Shepard – wondering how much they were pretending right now. He had no doubt that Gibbs was paying attention to what was going on around him. But that likely included paying attention to Shepard as well.

Tony had been in their company enough to know there was something between them – even if it was just some sort of understanding. They looked like two people who had recognised something in the other that they hadn't seen anywhere else.

"You're people watching," a quiet voice said beside him and he looked over to find Jeanne standing beside him.

"Passing the time," he said as he pulled a chair out for her, "wondering whether you were going to show."

"Well, here I am." She smiled, a little nervously as she sat down and his heart warmed towards her – before he remembered that their nerves had very different causes. Her gaze travelled the bar, settling on Shepard and Gibbs. "So," she said, "what did you decide about them - friends or lovers?"

"I was thinking lovers," he replied, very glad he wasn't wearing a wire.

"Hmm – you sure? They aren't touching – maybe it's their first date."

"Maybe," he agreed.

* * *

It was strange to sit in the bar, keeping careful watch on DiNozzo and Jeanne Benoit – all of the time fighting his awareness of the woman next to him. He wanted to give his undivided attention to her and, once or twice, he almost forgot that they were not the ones on a date. As a consequence their conversation was stilted and awkward and not much helped by his desire to touch her.

At least DiNozzo didn't seem to be having trouble. Across the bar the conversation was flowing easily. Gibbs could see Jeanne smiling; she was leaning forward – her body language open and relaxed as she responded to DiNozzo's charm.

Gibbs had to give him credit for trying. This was the DiNozzo he'd always known existed, had seen glimpses of during the years they'd worked together; the person he could be if only he trusted enough to be honest. Of course there was no knowing what it was costing him to be this open and, grudgingly, he had to acknowledge the strength of character involved.

Maybe he envied him that open response – because there was no doubt that the woman he was interested in was a lot more difficult to impress that Jeanne Benoit. Her complexity was fascinating – he hadn't been this intrigued by a woman in a very long time.

Characteristically her response to him was – complicated.

One moment he was sure she was flirting with him, the next she had retreated back behind her barricades. It just made him want to apply his tactical mind to the task of luring her out again and then analyse the approaches to see what worked and what that revealed. Given the opportunity he suspected it was something he could spend a lot of time thinking about. The only explanation he could attempt to put on it was that she was also struggling to remember that this wasn't about them. But while she was fighting their mutual attraction he was intent on exploring it.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd pursued a woman. The challenge appealed to him.

"They're leaving," he observed – watching DiNozzo get to his feet and then help Jeanne on with her coat.

"You think he's going to walk her home?" She inquired, tilting her head to the side to watch them leave the bar together. As she moved his attention was drawn to the pale skin at her throat, the opening of her shirt offering a tantalising line down to her cleavage. "Jethro?" The amused quirk in her voice told him that she had a good idea where he had been looking and he catalogued that in the information he had collected about her to date.

"As long as he doesn't agree to go in for a coffee." He pulled out his phone and pressed a couple of buttons. "Follow him," he told Ziva, hanging up before he could hear how she responded to the order. He looked over at his companion and found that she had been watching him. "You ready to get out of here?"

He waited while she got to her feet and didn't offer to help her on with her coat – far too conscious that she might take it the wrong way. But his hand strayed to the small of her back as the walked out of the bar together – the contact was careful and he gained a little confidence from the fact that she didn't shrug him off.

* * *

"Thanks for the drink," Jeanne said as they lingered outside the apartment block where she lived. She smiled up at him and Tony couldn't help but admit that he found her attractive. She was sweet, funny, caring and clever – not the sort of woman he came across on a day to day basis, though he hadn't exactly been looking.

He wasn't sure how successful he had been at setting aside his brash exterior but when she had teased him a little about being a play-boy he hadn't wanted to lie to her.

"I'm trying to change," he'd replied and then without really knowing why he'd found himself adding, "a few years ago a friend of mine died – it was sudden and she wasn't very old, had her whole life ahead of her. It made me look at how I was living." He hadn't intended to talk about Kate, he never talked about Kate – but Jeanne had treated the admission with the gravity it deserved.

"I'm sorry about your friend," she'd told him, compassion shining in her eyes.

Now, taking their time over saying goodnight he said, "I had a good time." Suddenly he was nervous at the thought that she might not want to see him again and not completely because it would mean that the operation was blown. "Would you like to do this again sometime?"

"I would," she responded – smiling softly at him. "You'll call me?"

"I will." He looked at her and then brushed a gentle kiss to her cheek before she tapped in a code and slipped in through the front door. He watched until she disappeared into the elevator and then started to walk back the way he'd come.

He wasn't surprised when a car drew up beside him once he was safely out of sight of the building, the door opening so he could climb inside. "You did not get an invitation to join her for coffee." Ziva pointed out as she pulled away, "does this mean she did not like you?"

"It's not always about sex Ziva," he told her – fully aware of how absurd those words sounded coming from him. He opened his cell and started to send Jeanne a short text – something to reassure her that he meant to call her and arrange another date. "Where's Gibbs?"

"Taking Shepard home." Tony couldn't help his grin as McGee answered his question.

"Really," he drawled, "you think he's going to get invited in for coffee?"

* * *

"You going to offer me a drink?" Gibbs asked as he followed her to the front door. Jenny knew that she should say no; tell him she was tired, which was true, and bid him goodnight. But she hesitated, "you know you're going to go in there and have a glass of bourbon Jen, might as well have some company."

She hadn't been completely surprised to learn that he shared her taste in alcohol and she knew that he had nursed a single glass during their time at the bar. But she was aware that spending more time in his company, sharing a drink, wasn't a good idea.

"Jethro," she began – but the words disappeared as he stepped closer to her, the hands she'd been watching all evening framing her face. "I don't think this…" It was a feeble attempt at warding him off, she wasn't convinced by it herself so it was no wonder that it did nothing to dissuade him.

She told herself sternly that she wasn't going to succumb – that kissing him was out of the question. But as he moved closer the smirk that tugged at his lips and the glint in his eyes was an indication that he knew what was going to happen next. There was no denying the way her eyes fluttered shut or the way she reached to close the tiny distance between them.

It wasn't fair. It was the worst timing and a really bad idea, but she kissed him anyway. She wanted to believe that her sudden hunger was due to it being a long time since she'd been kissed by anyone, but she knew it probably had a lot to do with him.

If she'd done nothing to stop it from happening in the first place she had to make sure it wasn't repeated. Reluctantly she pulled away, telling him "this isn't a good idea," though it was difficult to look him in the eye and say the words.

"When you lie your right eye twitches," that observation was about the last thing she had been expecting to hear.

"It does not."

"It's doing it now." She glared at him, refusing to get into a debate about this and he took a step back, watching in silence as she used the security code to unlock the front door.

The satisfying clunk the look made as it kicked in gave her some measure of security and she leant back against the door. Her legs felt wobbly but it was easy to put that down to her injuries, it was less clear why her insides would be feeling fluttery.

What she wanted and what she could have were not the same thing. She couldn't afford to be side-tracked or distracted. She pushed herself up and took a step towards the study, hating proving him right but not enough to deny herself the drink.

Her cell phone rang as she lifted the glass to her lips. "Shepard," she answered without looking at the number.

"Night Jen," his voice said. The amusement was there at the edge of his voice but it was the softness of his tone that reached out and wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket on a cold evening.

"Good night Jethro."

TBC


	8. In medias res

A/N - thanks for the reviews and for sticking with the story as it develops - I know its a little slow...

**Part 8**

_In medias res **- **_into the middle of things

"You got something for me Ducks?" Gibbs said as he stepped into autopsy to find his team already there – which answered his question about where they were hiding. He knew his mood had not exactly been at its best the last few days. He was attributing that to the lack of progress in investigating Jasper Shepard's death and though a quiet voice in his head was telling him that it was his failure to make progress with Shepard's daughter that was irritating him, he was ignoring that.

So far they had hit brick wall after brick wall. Ziva's contacts had confirmed that Borov had been taking money from La Grenouille, which made it conceivable that Shepard had taken a bribe as well; the two men had worked closely together after all. But it also made it conceivable that he'd been got out of the way when he'd refused to co-operate. Gibbs wasn't interested in speculation or conjecture – that wasn't how you built a case.

Abby's experiments with the trajectory had got them nowhere – the crime scene photographs just weren't good enough to tell them anything about the gun shot to the head that had killed Shepard and the only forensic test that had been conducted had found gun shot residue on Shepard's hands. On the face of it there was nothing to indicate that someone else was involved.

"Possibly," Ducky said – spreading the contents of a file out before him. "When I looked at the autopsy photographs again I noticed a small bruise on Colonel Shepard's hand, just about here." He pointed to a spot on his right hand, "it was noted in the report but there were no other injuries – apart from the shot to the head. Of course it could have been made in any number of ways,"

"But it could have been a way of subduing him," Ziva pointed out, "I have seen the technique used."

They had no body, the investigation had been sketchy by any standards and there was at least reason to suspect that La Grenouille might have been involved in the death. He disliked cold cases – always had.

"There is something else," Ducky said drawing his attention back, "after noticing the bruise I went back through the autopsy report. It bothered me – even if it was suicide, I was surprised that it wasn't more thorough. I tried to look into the ME who carried out the autopsy but I couldn't find any trace of him."

"You sure about this Duck?"

"He wasn't with the Army, or the Pentagon."

"Get Abby on it," he told McGee, "find him, or failing that find out where he came from and why he was used." His cell phone rang before he could give any more orders and he listened for a moment before saying tersely, "on my way," and heading upstairs without a backwards look.

The summons had been from Morrow, but it was Fornell who was lingering on the catwalk outside the Director's office. "Stealing another crime scene from us?" He asked by way of a greeting.

"Technically bringing one of your colleagues up to speed on an investigation that crossed over into your jurisdiction." Gibbs nodded, sure that the briefing was a good excuse – he already knew what Fornell wanted.

"DiNozzo made contact with the Benoit girl – they seem to be getting along well."

"I don't like involving her in this – she can't help who her father is."

"You want us to stop?" Fornell shrugged and Gibbs knew that as much as the idea bothered him he wouldn't intervene – they had no better options after all.

"How's the other investigation going?"

"Slowly," He watched as his team made their way back to their desks.

"I bet she doesn't like that,"

"No," he answered thinking about Jenny, what the truth meant to her and whether she was really prepared for where the evidence might lead.

"So what's next?" He'd been thinking about that as well, knew he needed to know more about Jasper Shepard and their quarry.

"I think we need to know a lot more about the frog."

"Just as well you have an expert to hand." Fornell gave him a long look, one that was full of suspicion and just a little grim amusement. "Be careful Jethro."

"Find the officers who investigated the suicide," Gibbs said as he returned to his desk.

"That from Fornell?" Tony asked.

"It's from me, you have a better idea?"

"No boss – sorry, I just…" before Tony could go any further his cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and the looked up, "it's Jeanne."

"You better answer then." He watched the way Tony turned away, speaking quietly to avoid being overheard by his colleagues. "You two," Gibbs looked over at Ziva and McGee who were trying not to watch at DiNozzo, "Army CID – I want to talk to the officers who investigated Jasper Shepard's death."

They'd been trying to keep their interest in the case off the radar – but that was getting harder. With any luck the officers concerned would be retired, which might give them a little more cover. He glanced up to find Tobias was gone and wished he was more confident that he would stay out of this until the frog was lured out.

"Boss, I need to go." He gave Tony the stare, gratified when he shifted uncomfortably, "I told Jeanne I have a break between classes and that I'd buy her lunch."

"Then don't keep her waiting and don't be late back." As DiNozzo reached for his jacket Gibbs reached for his own phone and dialled. "Need to talk to you. How about lunch?" he asked, listening to her make an excuse and then totally ignoring it. "I'll be there in an hour."

* * *

She'd argued about being dragged out when she was supposed to be working and then fumed for all of the 10 minute drive. "I still don't understand why we couldn't have had this conversation in my house."

"Felt like a change of scene," was his only offer of an explanation and then when she was notably unimpressed by that answer, "I need to know a lot more about the frog."

"If you'd let me stay at my house I could have given you data, photographs."

"I'll send someone over. I thought we could just talk."

"Just because your eye doesn't twitch it doesn't mean I can't tell when you're lying." He tried to hide the smile at her words but it crept out anyway. "Why am I here Jethro?"

"Felt like some fresh air," he said as he pulled into a parking space on the edge of some ornamental gardens. He got out and opened the car door for her, offering her a hand. "I'll buy you lunch," he said, ignoring the mutinous expression on her face.

He was still determined to push her over her reluctance to leave her house and he thought it might be easier to discuss this away from the house that held all of the secrets of her father's death – not to mention the ones he was certain she had tucked away.

He thought about the kiss they'd shared, about the way she'd responded and then pulled away. Like a woman who knew what she wanted but didn't think that she could or should have it.

She took the arm he offered and eased herself out of the car. Their bodies were tantalisingly close for a moment. Hee smiled down at her. "Stop it!" She hissed pulling her arm away.

"Coffee," he asked – gesturing to the small outdoor stall.

* * *

As Tony waited for Jeanne he was very aware that he was a subject of much curiosity. Quite a few people seemed to walk past him, trying to discretely look him over and not being entirely successful. Maybe he should have just waited for her outside the hospital.

"Do they approve?" He asked when she appeared.

"They aren't very subtle," she conceded, "sorry about that."

"It's OK?" He hesitated for a moment – certain they were still being watched, then kissed her on the cheek anyway. "How was your morning?"

"Busy." For a moment it was clear that her mind was back with her patients, "I don't have a lot of time."

"Well that's OK – I've arranged for us to have lunch at a little place I know that's very close by." He said as he opened the door for her.

"It's not the hot dog stand is it – because I've had a couple of patients…"

"It's not the hot dog stand," he pointed to the spot where his car was parked, beside it on a scrap of grass he had set up a small picnic table with a checked table-cloth. "Your table awaits madam." He told her formally.

She laughed and looped her arm through his. "Which movie is this from?"

* * *

"When you said you were buying me lunch this isn't exactly what I had in mind." Jenny had managed to negotiate her way through the gardens holding her coffee cup but when they sat down Jethro handed over the hot dog he'd purchased for her.

"Little bird told me you weren't eating."

"And this is supposed to help me get my appetite back? I think Noemi would rather I passed, she's very particular about my diet these days." He raised an eyebrow at her and took a large bite of his hot dog, reluctantly she did the same. "Not bad."

"Told you,"

"Don't be smug – it doesn't suit you."

"So I've been told." She rolled her eyes and didn't comment any further though he noticed that she ate the hot dog quickly and washed it down with a large mouthful of coffee as though she was unwilling to let the taste linger.

"La Grenouille has a taste for the finer things in life – his drink of choice is expensive brandy. He has several houses in Europe and travels in a private jet. He takes his security very seriously and his communications are difficult to intercept – believe me I've tried."

"Do I want to know how?"

"Probably not."

"I know someone who might have more success," he suggested – thinking about Abby.

"I'll see you have access to the relevant data," she took a sip of her coffee, "he organises business so that none of his employees, including Kort, have all of the relevant pieces of the jigsaw, so that they can't betray him, or go into business for themselves."

"Clever,"

"He is – very."

"He know that you're after him?"

"Our paths have crossed once or twice, in out of the way places. We've never actually come face to face though." Her voice sounded matter of fact but he could tell the subject of their finally meeting was anything but. "His mind is subtle, complex – he likes the more oblique approach."

"Mind games," he said remembering what she had told him about Borov announcing that her father wasn't dead. "You make dangerous enemies," he observed.

"Is there any other kind?"

He sipped his coffee in silence – enjoying the way the light caught her hair and softened her features. But his mind was on the conversation he'd had with Ducky before coming out to meet her and whether she was ready to hear what the Medical Examiner had suggested.

His deliberations were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone; "Gibbs." The news that greeted him was not what he wanted to hear, but effectively it made his mind up for him. "I'll be back soon," he told Ziva, "track him down."

"What's wrong?" She shouldn't know him well enough to read his facial expressions, but apparently she did.

"Your father's autopsy was not as thorough as it should have been and carried out by a ME we can't find any trace of. Both the officers who handled the investigation are dead – natural causes but…"

"You don't believe in coincidences?"

"Not this kind." She turned to look at him, eyebrow raised in a question and rather than answer he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear – neither of them drawing attention to the hitch in her breathing at the contact. He stroked a thumb over her cheekbone – enjoying the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

"Don't," she said – the whisper of yearning in her voice a direct contrast to the word itself.

"You aren't someone who scares easily Jen."

"I'm not afraid,"

"Then what is it? What's stopping you?" She lifted her hand to where his rested against her cheek, drawing it down to her lips – pressing a gentle kiss to his palm and then pulling his hand away. But she didn't let him go, weaving their fingers together before looking up at him, her eyes soft and knowing.

"Whatever it is that you're just about to ask me."

TBC


	9. Camera obscura

A/N - thanks for the reviews. Erm - this chapter is a bit angsty...

**Part 9**

_camera obscura - veiled chamber_

There was only one customer in the bar and even with his shock of white hair and stooped posture Gibbs recognised a retired soldier when he saw one. He crossed the bar, slid onto the next stool and ordered a beer. Without needing to look he knew that Ziva had taken up position by the entrance – her alert eyes watching everything

When he'd left McGee and Abby had been happily trawling through the data Jen had supplied, talking in a language he barely understood. He hoped it meant they were going to be able to figure out a way to intercept La Grenouille's communications; or at the very least track his movements.

Given what they would be doing when darkness fell he was glad of the opportunity to question a witness – especially when this was the _only_ witness.

"How many tours?" The man beside him asked without looking over.

"Two," he responded.

"And now?"

"NCIS."

"Navy cop," Grant Jenks observed, "didn't take you for a Fed. She with you?"

"Officer David," Gibbs supplied, "I don't recommend you make any sudden moves."

"I'm too old to make any sudden moves. So Agent..."

"Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs – what brings you here?"

"Need to talk to you about Colonel Jasper Shepard," Jenks had been in the act of taking a sip of his beer, but he put the bottle down and for the first time looked Gibbs directly in the eye.

"If you take my advice you'll stay well away from that."

"I'm not much good at staying away from things."

"Is that the Marine in you, or the investigator?"

"Could just be the fact that I'm a stubborn bastard." Jenks, a retired Department of Defense investigator was the only person still alive who had investigated Jasper Shepard. They hadn't tried to access the files relating to the investigation of the bribe – Gibbs was wary of letting Abby and McGee work their magic unless they had no option. "I'm looking into his death, so that means I am looking into the accusation against him."

"He killed himself, it was open and shut." Gibbs shrugged, and Jenks added after a moments thought, "Shepard's daughter was convinced her old man had been murdered – she was quite a looker then."

"Still is," Gibbs replied levelly, refusing to respond the innuendo in his voice.

"I heard she'd been hurt?"

"You're well-informed for someone who's been retired 10 years."

"It pays to keep in touch." Jenks was no fool, but Gibbs had seen enough of his record to know that. "You re-opening the investigation or is this under the wire?"

"If I'm sitting here asking you questions it's not off the books, I don't work that way. Anything you want to tell me about the bribery accusation?" Jenks took a long swallow of his beer and Gibbs waited him out.

"My gut told me it didn't add up."

"Your gut have anything more concrete?"

"We only ever found evidence of a single payment and there didn't seem to be a reason to take the bribe – no money worries, no debts, no expensive mistresses. Man was as straight as a dye."

"Maybe he had a taste for living dangerously."

"If he did he developed it very suddenly and damn late in life." Gibbs took a swallow of his drink and considered what he had been told.

"If there was no reason to be investigating him – how did he get found out?"

"There was a tip that the weapons he was supposed to be disposing of had been diverted instead."

"From?" Jenks shook his head,

"Way above my pay grade."

Ziva looked up as Gibbs approached, but didn't ask. He told her anyway. "They were tipped off about the bribe – Jenks thought there was something off, but didn't say anything. When Shepard died he let it go."

"Do you believe him?" Gibbs cast a look back over his shoulder and remembered what Jenny had told him.

"Check him out," he ordered, "our friends like to play mind games."

* * *

The darkness swirled around them, the depth of the blackness broken up by pools of harsh, bright light from the large, portable lamps they had set up. They made an incongruous group – a hub of activity within the still and quiet. The canopy they had erected to obscure their activity was, ironically, anything but discrete.

"I've never done anything like this before," Abby announced her tone awed and reverent. Gibbs wasn't surprised she'd made one of her rare trips into the field for this – only Abby could find beauty and fascination in this gruesome spectacle.

He watched as Ducky moved around, directing everything that was going on like a choreographer of a complex ballet. But even the grace of his old friend did not lend him confidence and he asked himself all over again if this was really necessary. The fact that Jenny had agreed did not make him any more certain that this should be happening.

He let his gaze travel over his team – past Abby's rapt expression, to McGee looking uncomfortable, but feeling he ought to tough it out because the others were. Tony was fidgeting; he was due to meet Jeanne after she finished her shift at the hospital and this was possibly not the ideal preparation. Ziva gaze was traveling between her partner and the group surrounding Ducky. Her body language and facial expression was closed and Gibbs wondered if she considered this a violation – or a necessary evil.

It was Ziva who noticed the car. "Gibbs," she said, looking to the large dark car and the figure that waited in the shadows beside it.

Gibbs sighed – even if he hadn't recognised her he would have known at once who the new arrival was. At least she wasn't worried about leaving the house anymore.

As he approached he realised that her gaze was fixed on the canopy, she didn't look away until he spoke to her. "You shouldn't be here," he told her gently.

"I needed to see for myself." He understood, really he did. In her place he'd likely have done the same and without even thinking about it he reached for her.

"Jen, go home." Her fingers closed around his hand – the sudden vulnerability a stark

contrast to everything knew about her.

"My dear," Ducky's voice was soft and considerate, he made no reference to their clasped hands – all of his attention focussed on Jenny, "you don't need to be here for this. I promise that we will take great care."

Gibbs knew the moment she had capitulated and was too relieved to care that it had been Ducky's reassurance that had worked. He reached across and opened the car door for her – sharing a look with Stanley as she settled into the back.

"Let's just get on with this," he told Ducky as the car pulled away.

"These things take time Jethro," Ducky responded, "done properly they take time."

"We have tonight." But Ducky knew that already and it was better for all of them if he concentrated on the delicate task of exhuming Jasper Shepard's body.

* * *

He knew what was going to happen; had known as soon as he had turned the car in the direction of her house. Although he was only really prepared to admit that as he paused in the doorway of her living room watching the way that the shadows embraced her.

Never had it been more apparent just how comfortable she was in the almost darkness that the single lamp was doing very little to keep at bay. It was a place where you couldn't trust your eyes, you had to rely on your other senses – on your instincts.

It was instinct that had drawn him here after seeing the team and the results of the exhumation safely back to the Navy Yard. It was instinct that drew him across the room to stand beside her and it was instinct that told him to rely on another of his senses now.

He touched her.

It opened the floodgates. She turned her head to him, shrugging off the hand he had placed on her shoulder, her mouth seeking his. Kissing her reminded him of velvet – soft, luxuriant and demanding - the dig of her nails into his shoulder as she held onto him only adding to the sensations. It crossed his mind that she'd dropped her barriers – or perhaps it was just that she felt safer in the shadows.

He breathed her in as their kiss became ever more urgent. His hands rounded her shoulders, down her back, settling on her hips, holding her against him. She rolled her hips against his and then against his thigh as he slipped it between her legs, He bit back a groan at the surge of sudden, wanton need for her that came from watching her move.

He pulled away for long enough to grasp the edge of her sweater, drawing it up over her head and casting it away. She returned the favour, working on the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them to allow him to shrug them off.

The thud of her walking stick hitting the hardwood floors startled them away from each other; the sound was dramatic against the tense silence that had engulfed them. This might have been the moment to stop, but her breasts were straining against the pale cream bra she wore and the outline of her nipples against the soft fabric was more than he was going to be able to resist.

He drew her back to the couch, taking most of her weight, wary of her injuries. The thought that she might not be physically capable of what they were almost certainly heading towards lingered – but only until he flicked the bra off and lowered his mouth to taste her.

He used his teeth and she squirmed against him, reaching between them to open his pants and insinuate a hand into his boxers. Gentle pressure at first, slow steady strokes that built in a way that had his hips moving and his whole consciousness centred on her touch. Her smile was knowing and amused as she watched him through half-closed eyes – like a woman who knew exactly what she was doing to him and enjoyed exercising that power. A change in the movement had him biting back a curse as he went from a lazy build up to on the edge verging on desperate. As good as it was this wasn't what he wanted for their first time.

He gripped her wrist – pulling her hand away and then shrugging off his clothes before concentrating on getting her all of the rest of the way out of hers.

The action of undressing her revealed the full extent of her injuries. The scars over her hip and back drew his attention and he traced the healing scar tissue with careful fingers until she touched his cheek and drew his gaze back to her face.

Her eyes were wide, as though she was surprised by his tenderness, didn't know how to deal with it. The flutter of pain at the knowledge that she had no idea how to respond almost overwhelmed him. He let her off the hook when she took his hand and slid it between her legs and he didn't hesitate to let her guide him. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and he wasn't going to deny her. She moved for him, holding his gaze with her own as their hands spread heat and moisture.

When he crawled back up her body only one leg wrapped around his waist and he caught the flash of frustration in her eyes at the limitations in her mobility. But he kissed her, letting the dark emotions explode on his tongue until she surrendered and only then did he slide into her.

His movements were deep and slow, making it last, making her body beg for more – though she bit her lip and refused to vocalise what she wanted. But he knew her body was taut with need beneath his. He would have buried his head in her shoulder but he wanted to watch, wanted to see her come apart and know it was because of him.

She didn't disappoint – her back arching, eyes pressed tightly closed, her skin slick with sweat and flushed with pleasure. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold on – but she wouldn't allow him that level of control; slamming her hips up into his, tightening around him until he was the one who surrendered.

* * *

Tony held his breath, as the woman curled into his side shifted but didn't wake. Reassured he went back to watching her as she slept – perfectly aware that the fact that Jeanne had fallen asleep mid way through the movie meant not only that she was exhausted, but that on some sub conscious level she trusted him. Which was a hell of an irony.

The movie was over now, the credits rolling and he knew he should leave – but something kept him here, watching her. Finally he eased away from her, wondering if she would wake. When she showed no sign of it he contemplated carrying her to her bedroom, but he was wary of presuming too much. So far their dates had involved kissing and some gentle touching – like people intent on getting to know each other, taking their time. But he knew that couldn't last; that sometime soon their relationship would have to progress, become far more intimate. The thought troubled him, because he knew he could make that transition. The warnings had helped, but they hadn't prepared for the knowledge that he was capable of doing this to someone.

She settled the question for him, by curling into the space he'd vacated and he pulled an afghan from the back of the couch, covering her with it so she wouldn't get cold. He brushed a light kiss onto her forehead, watching the way her lips curved into a faint smile at his touch.

He watched her for a moment longer – peaceful and beautiful and then made himself walk away, refusing to dwell on what he would have to do to her.

* * *

Their silence held as she watched him dress through almost closed eyes and chose not to make him aware that she knew he was leaving – it was easier that way.

The darkness was closer now and she had things to think about were easier to contemplate without his body wrapped around hers; unexpectedly making her feel comforted and safe when that was the last thing she wanted.

She told herself that it was better that he was leaving like this, as though he was retreating from something he regretted, and that the soft lingering touch of his fingertips to the back of her head before he padded away meant nothing at all.

Stretching out on the couch she winced at the pain in her back and hip and the way it was radiating down her leg. The 'exercise' had been more vigorous than any she'd undertaken recently, she was going to suffer in the morning - actually she was suffering now.

She knew that she couldn't move, her walking stick was out of reach and she didn't trust her body to support her for long enough to get up and cross the room to find it. It looked as though she was staying put until Noemi arrived in the morning. The blanket they'd pulled over their bodies afterwards would ensure she didn't freeze and her house-keeper was discrete. The humiliation of being stranded here stung – but there had been a lot of humiliation in the last couple of months and there would likely be more to come.

Watching the exhumation of her father's body had been more distressing than she had expected – filling her with cold and darkness and the feeling that she had let him down. She'd sought refuge from those feelings in Jethro and as much as she had needed the temporary respite, she knew she couldn't allow it to happen again.

TBC


	10. Errare humanum est

A/N - thanks for the reviews - and thanks to Elflordsmistress for help with the Tony?Gibbs scene.

**Part 10**

_errare humanum est – to err is human_

"You look sad," Abby said as Gibbs stepped into her lab. She tilted her head, scrutinising him in the way she would a specimen under one of her fancy microscopes. "You need a hug," she diagnosed.

"I'm fine," he told her, hoping to ward her off by offering a caff pow but she wasn't to be dissuaded.

As she wound herself around him, she said, "I don't like it when you're sad."

"I'm not," he kissed her on the top of her head because he wasn't sad exactly – just tired and monumentally stupid. He'd been over half way home last night before he'd thought about Jen's injuries, realised that she couldn't just get up off the couch where he'd left her and go to bed. He should have picked her up and carried her to bed – even if he hadn't been planning to stay.

He still didn't know why he hadn't gone back when his brain had finally kicked into gear – perhaps because he wasn't ready to explain why he had left in the first place.

He didn't regret what had happened – it wasn't a mistake; he couldn't even say that he hadn't expected it to be that intense between them because somehow he'd known that it would be. But he'd needed to clear his head and he couldn't do that with her there.

In other circumstances he thought she'd probably understand – maybe even have done the same thing if their positions had been reversed. But in these circumstances it was a horrible thing to have done and he wasn't sure he had any right to be forgiven. The thought that he might have lost her, just when he'd found her, was almost as terrifying as the sudden realisation that he was thinking about her in those terms. Somehow they fit together as though the jagged lines of each others lives, the scars and wounds and baggage were pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slotting neatly into place.

"Do you have anything for me?" He asked Abby, pushing her gently away; knowing he didn't deserve too much comfort.

"Nothing good," she replied as she moved towards the computers. "I'm sorry Gibbs, I tried everything – really I did, I even made a computer reconstruction." She pressed some buttons and a figure seated behind a desk appeared on the computer screen. As they watched the figure picked up a gun – held it against the side of his head and pulled the trigger.

The screen went blank and then reset itself – this time with a second figure standing beside the chair behind the desk. This time around it was the second figure who placed the gun in the hand of the figure representing Shepard, lifted the hand to his head and held the gun in place as the trigger was pulled.

"Both these scenarios could have happened, but there's just no way to tell which one actually happened," she told him as they gazed at the blank screen. "I examined the gun and there were no other prints on it, just a lot of smudges. Ducky hasn't found any evidence that Colonel Shepard was incapacitated but they didn't run a tox screen at the time and now it's too late. There was a bottle of scotch on the desk, but no one seems to have tested the contents of that either. The gunshot residue on his hands shows he must have been holding the gun, but without seeing the distribution for myself I don't know if its consistent with his being the only one holding the gun. "

He could tell the she was frustrated, he didn't blame her. "I know back then they didn't have access to all the equipment we have now – but this was pretty sloppy investigating Gibbs."

"I know," and since everyone involved in that investigation was dead he couldn't see how he was going to find out if it was deliberate or not. "It's not your fault."

He was on his way out of the door when she said quietly, "Ziva says she's dangerous" and that was enough to make him turn back.

"Says who is dangerous?"

"Jenny Shepard. I don't like this Gibbs; you're sad, Tony's gone all quiet and Ziva's cross, I know Ziva is cross a lot, but not like this. I wanted to like her, but now everything's really hinky and it all seems to come from her and I don't know what's going to happen. So I think I need to know, is she dangerous?"

"Hell of a question Abs." She looked straight at him, refusing to budge and he sighed, unable to deny her the answer - even if he wasn't sure exactly what it was.

"She believes in finding the truth and that makes her enemies – I suppose you could call her dangerous."

"It was her idea to send Tony undercover."

"He can handle it,"

"What if he can't?"

"Abby," he touched her cheek, not wanting to tell her that this was part of the job – but she saw it in his eyes anyway.

"This isn't how we catch criminals."

"Sometimes it is."

"I want to meet her," she pleaded, "please Gibbs – I need to see for myself."

"I'll see what I can do," he told her – not sure how he was going to accomplish that if Jen wasn't talking to him anymore.

* * *

He'd sent the rest of the team home for the night and was using the peace and quiet to ponder what he should do about Jen when he looked up to find Morrow standing in front of his desk.

"I'm supposed to reel you in," the Director said, "tell you to stay out of things that don't concern you."

"That message come from anyone in particular?"

"They don't give their names Jethro, they just get their point across." He'd known that they couldn't hope to keep their investigation secret indefinitely but he'd hoped for a little more time. "This have something to do with the body you exhumed last night?"

"You said you didn't want to know," he reminded Morrow.

"You're making it hard for me to ignore."

"I'm not doing this for my own entertainment sir."

"Imagine my surprise. This something that needs to be done?" Before he answered that Gibbs thought about the sloppy investigation, about an operation that no one seemed willing to acknowledge and where the boundary of what needed to be done lay. If it came to it he knew Fornell could probably get Morrow to back off – but he didn't want to use that particular get out of jail card unless he had to.

"It does."

Morrow nodded, taking him at his word. "All right. I'll do what I can – but if they don't get what they want from me they'll find some other way to get their message across."

"You telling me to watch my back?"

"I'm telling you these people only go through official channels once." Gibbs knew he was right, if the warning had come it meant that someone had noticed that he was looking into Shepard's death and didn't like it. It was anyone's guess what they would do next to make sure he got the message.

* * *

Gibbs was pretty sure he'd had better days. Abby's tests were inconclusive and likely to remain so, Ducky would never had considered an exhumation if he thought he had any other options and then there was the warning that had come via Morrow. He supposed it was only to be expected – given that he'd started the day by screwing things up with a woman who he was finding it very difficult to stop thinking about. A whole other meaning to getting out of bed on the wrong side.

The plan she'd set in motion was working; there was no doubt that she knew her enemy. But the investigation that she had bargained for had nowhere left to go. He didn't want to have to be the one to tell her – but realistically he knew there was no one else.

After last night he wasn't sure if he could face her. In his personal life at least he didn't particularly like confrontations, which was why he was avoiding this one. He knew that he should have been explaining to her why he'd left, but instead he was spending time with the boat and a glass of bourbon and accusing himself of cowardice with every stroke of the sander across the wood.

But tonight he wasn't going to be allowed to brood alone. "You gonna come in DiNozzo, or lurk in the shadows all night?"

"I'm getting pretty good with the shadows," the shape on the stairs replied and Gibbs didn't particularly like the edge of bitterness he heard in his voice. "Wasn't sure you'd want company."

"Haven't decided yet." The company he most wanted was probably going to slam a door in his face later and DiNozzo wouldn't be here now if he didn't want or need something. He'd promised there would be back up and this was what that promise meant. "You want a drink?"

"Thanks – but I'll pass on the bourbon."

"There's beer in the fridge in the kitchen." He carried on sanding the boat, listening to his guest retreat and then return with a beer. DiNozzo wasn't hard to read, not compared to some people – but he was being forced to really grow up and Gibbs wasn't surprised that it was hurting. For all the times he had wished for a little more maturity from his senior field office, this wasn't the way he would have chosen for it to happen. "Either help sand or talk," he said at last.

DiNozzo took a sip of his beer and chose the latter option. "I need some relationship advice."

"And you came to me?" Someone who had been divorced three times was not a person who should be offering any advice on relationships.

"I hear you boss, but I didn't have a lot of choice."

"Go on then," the last thing he wanted to do was listen to Tony talk about Jeanne when he had woman troubles of his own.

"I've been thinking about moving things on to the next level, but because of the importance of this person; I need to get it right."

"You'll know when it's right. Trust your instincts."

"And then what happens?"

"You talking about the job, or the girl?"

"I don't know - is there a difference?" It was the answer he expected – but he didn't much like the way DiNozzo wasn't meeting his eyes.

"Do the job you were assigned to do and don't get in over your head." He told him, watching to see how that instruction was received. He knew that DiNozzo had heard the words, but whether he had really listened was anyone's guess.

"She was right," Tony said at last, "Shepard I mean."

"Yeah," part of him wished that she hadn't been – the same part that wished she'd never suggested this operation and that he hadn't agreed to it. But this wasn't about individual comfort – the stakes were far higher. It was his job to make sure they didn't forget that, but at the same time it was also his job to ensure his team emerged relatively unscathed – including DiNozzo. "You getting cold feet?"

"I thought it would be harder to get her to like me." Gibbs knew he couldn't help him, knew that DiNozzo had to grapple with his own demons. He even thought that the honesty might do him good in the long run. But, that didn't change the fact that this was another failure on his part and he was tired of feeling burdened by the things he had done wrong, by the things he couldn't control.

"If you want out all you have to do is say the word." He offered, meaning it. At least that drew DiNozzo's attention away from his drink.

The younger man seemed to be weighing his words carefully as he replied; "I don't want out, but thanks for the offer boss." He nodded, trusting the other agents instincts and went back to sanding.

He wasn't Tony; whatever was going on with Jen wasn't a fiction he was concocting for the greater good. It was real and complicated and so totally unexpected that it wasn't a surprise that he'd needed to work out how much he was prepared to put into it before he went back.

But now listening to DiNozzo talk he realised that he and Jen had somehow claimed each other - flaws, wounds, secrets and all. It made him feel fortunate in some strange way – and just a little grateful that someone had pitched up on his door to make sure he did see it.

Wordlessly he held out the sander, watching Tony's eyes widen with surprise at being allowed to touch the boat. "Sand with the grain," he instructed.

TBC


	11. Ignis aurum probat

A/N - thanks for the reviews.

**Part 11 **

_ignis aurum probat - fire tests gold_

Jenny Shepard set aside the book she had been failing to read for the last half an hour. She rolled her head – trying to ease some of the tension in her neck. It had been an odd sort of day.

She'd been awake when Noemi had arrived just after six – the pain and the stiffness in her hip and back not allowing her anything more than a fitful sleep. Her housekeeper hadn't fussed, just made sure her walking stick and clothes were within reach without asking what had happened to separate her from them. It was at such moments that she blessed Noemi's discretion and calmness.

She'd dressed slowly and then carefully made her way upstairs; curling into the bed she hadn't slept in, taking her medication and waiting for the pain to ease before venturing to the shower.

Noemi knew enough about her employer to keep her questions to herself, but there was no doubt that she had them. The next time Jethro was here she should probably warn him to check what was in his coffee because as much as Noemi was discrete she was also astute, not to mention over-protective.

Jethro – there had been neither sight nor sound of him but he'd been present anyway. She'd been brimming over with energy all day – Dan had commented on it and as a result made her work harder on her exercises. She'd been ravenously hungry and had devoured the soup Noemi made for supper and then asked for seconds. She'd forgotten what good sex could do and this had been very good sex. But whatever name she gave it, she knew it had been more than just sex and though her body glowed, her mind swirled with confusion. It was far more difficult than she'd like to just forget about what had happened.

Reaching for a glass of bourbon she sipped it thoughtfully. She didn't blame him for his exit – not really. First times were tricky and theirs had come on a night when the exhumation had played havoc with her emotions. Maybe he was as unwilling as she to acknowledge that it had meant something.

She shivered, though it wasn't cold and just for a moment she could feel his touch, his hands running over her body. She bit her lip – pulling herself back to the present with difficulty. It wasn't fair; her mind was playing tricks on her, her body come to life and craving his touch.

She was almost grateful when the doorbell rang – the prospect of a visitor a distraction of sorts, until she opened the front door and realised the subject of all those complicated thoughts was standing on her doorstep.

Last night he'd walked in and out of her house as though all of her security meant nothing and it hadn't just been the external defences that he had penetrated. His presence was dangerous; her reaction to him reminded her too many things she had sacrificed over the years and looking into his eyes reminded her painfully of looking at herself.

She stepped aside to let him pass, almost directing him into the living room but then thinking better of it.

"Study?"

"If that's where the bourbon is."

He circled the room while she poured the drinks – watching the way he moved now, thinking about the way he'd moved the night before when they'd been together. He'd been freer then, she decided, the power of the memory making her knees almost buckle and her body flush with arousal. When he looked over their gaze met and she took a quick mouthful of her drink, regretting the sudden lapse in her attention.

"CIA sent me a warning today," he said at last, "they'd like me to stop meddling in things that don't concern me."

"We were expecting that," she pointed out, settling into one of the chairs by the fireplace. "You've been asking questions, pulling files, you exhumed a body – those are the kind of things that get noticed." She knew he wasn't the sort of man who'd allow himself to be warned off, imagined if anything it would stiffen his resolve. But she knew who they were dealing with and it wasn't that simple, "they'll be watching now and they'll send other warnings." He nodded and she was relieved that he had seen that already, "they'll find out about Agent DiNozzo soon."

"He stepped by my place earlier – wanted to talk about how he'd know when it was the right time to move things forward with Jeanne."

"You think he's in too deep?"

"He says he can handle it."

"Do you believe him?" He shrugged, which was an answer of sorts. "You want to pull him out anyway?" At his surprised look she sighed, "they're your team Jethro – you're loyal to them, they're loyal to you. Just because my loyalties are different doesn't mean I don't understand how it works."

"It's his call." That seemed to be his final word on the subject and she could tell it had probably cost him a lot to let DiNozzo make the decision, especially if he wasn't sure it was the right one.

He downed the remains of his drink in a swallow and put the glass down on the mantlepiece – the movement was abrupt and jarring and she knew that whatever was coming next was something he wasn't looking forward to saying – which meant she probably wouldn't want to hear it.

"My forensics expert can't determine whether your father was alone when he died. The evidence we have supports the suicide theory – but there are holes in the investigation, tests that weren't carried out at the time, just enough questions to rouse suspicions and no one left alive to provide the answers."

"The exhumation?" He couldn't even find the words to answer that question but his abrupt shake of the head told her more than mere words. "There has to be something?" She dug her nails into her palm, trying not to sound desperate and knowing that she had failed.

"If you're asking whether I think the CIA or your friend the frog interfered with the investigation of your father's death, then the answer's yes. My gut says they made sure he was under investigation for taking a bribe, whether he was guilty or not. But I don't have any evidence and we've pretty much run out of people to question. Right now, there's nowhere else to go with this."

He was treating her like a victim's relative – kind, respectful and she hated it. She pushed herself up and headed for the desk, keeping her back to him so that she wouldn't have to face his compassion.

"So, you're just giving up?" she asked – her voice sounding cold even to her ears.

"I didn't say that, but I'm not going to promise you answers when there are none." It wasn't his fault, he'd at least taken her seriously, used all the resources at his disposal. But what could she really expect after all this time?

"I should have pushed harder at the time," she said, "I knew something was wrong, I should have made sure they investigated properly."

"It wasn't your fault." He stepped towards her as he offered her that absolution, but she shrugged off the words. It didn't matter that it wasn't her fault when she still felt she'd let her father down and she would carry on feeling that way until she had the answers she sought, until the person responsible for his death was made to pay.

She clamped down on the emotion swelling inside her, tried to direct it into anger. "I know my father didn't kill himself," she said carefully, every word costing her. "The investigation isn't closed, not when Rene Benoit knows what happened – not when we don't know how Lodestone might have been connected."

She refilled her glass and then emptied the contents – combining this much alcohol with her medication wasn't a good idea, but she didn't care too much about what happened to her right now.

"Jen," his voice was a low murmur and she cursed her reaction to it especially when she realised how close he had got to her. She refused to back away so they stood face to face, body to body; the gap between them far too small for all the powerful emotions between them. She was close to being overwhelmed by her reaction to him and she knew that if she didn't get away she wouldn't be able to hide anything from him. She'd be damned if she'd be the subject of his pity.

She gathered all of the tattered remnants of her defences and drew them around her as though they could protect her from a gaze that saw too much, knew too much. "I'd like you to leave now."

"No," the single word was weighted with determination and left her with no choice but to fight back.

"You didn't have a problem with leaving last night," she pointed out – her tone scathing.

"That was a mistake – one I won't be repeating."

"I don't need a damn baby-sitter Jethro," she reached for the decanter but he was faster – pushing it out of her reach.

"You don't need any more of that."

"Get out!" She spat, determined to have him gone.

"No."

Gibbs braced himself for the explosion that must surely come – he could see the flash of rage in her eyes and was guilty of being more than a little turned on by her temper. She was far too fond of calling the shots – it did her good to be faced with a little defiance.

It would probably be smarter to beat a hasty retreat, but the same instinct that had drawn him to her last night, told him to stand his ground now.

He recognised the irony of being determined to reach her, when he was a man who kept people at a distance, preferred to deal with his loss in private, used his work as a way to exorcise his guilt. He didn't know if he could change those things about himself, didn't even know if he wanted to try but he would far rather she sought comfort in him, than in the bottle.

She moved smoothly – stepping back to the desk and reaching into a drawer, pointing the gun she drew out of it straight at him. "I said, leave!"

Her hand wasn't shaking, she looked perfectly in control and even if he hadn't been told she was a damn good shot, she wouldn't miss at this range. "You aren't going to shoot me Jen,"

"Don't bet on it."

"I'm not the person you want dead."

"You think that means I won't pull the trigger?" She countered.

"I think it means that you won't feel any better if you do." She shook her head and lowered the weapon, dropping it onto the desk with a sigh.

"Go home Jethro, I can't give you what you want." Though he was the one who'd left the night before, it was pretty clear which of them was running.

"I'm not leaving," he told her as he reached for her, surprised when she let herself be drawn into a loose embrace. He curled his hand into her hair and rested his cheek against hers, just holding her, feeling the way she gradually relaxed and nestled closer to him.

"I don't want you to try to save me," she whispered and again he thought of the irony, of all the women who had tried to save him.

"Not going to happen," he said, "believe me – I know better."

"OK," she said quietly. He lifted the hand not holding her walking stick and pressed a kiss to the palm, as though they were sealing a promise.

* * *

She watched him in the soft light of her bedroom, looking up at him, admiring the lines of his face, the clear blue depths in his eyes. She wasn't prepared for the warmth spreading through her, or for the sudden curling of possession, the whisper of 'mine' that she had absolutely no intention of sharing with him.

Their determination to do this properly was mutual, if unspoken. He'd made sure the house was locked up, then climbed the stairs beside her, his arm around her waist – holding her close. Though he matched her pace it wasn't a question of bearing her weight or supporting her – they were both too independent for that.

When he kissed her, the lightness blossomed within her and she parted her lips for him without even thinking about it; drawing him in as he wrapped himself around her. The walking stick fell to the round with a soft thud – a reminder of the previous night that slipped away from her as his tongue stroked against hers. She bit her lip; moaning softly as he kissed the line of her jaw and then shivering when his knuckles grazed the skin of her stomach. He unfastened her pants and pushed them off her hips. She stepped out of them, holding onto his arm for support, watching the way his eyes slid down her legs and then up to her face again.

When she stood only in her underwear she started to return the favour; shirt first, her fingers lingering on his chest until he sucked in a breath and growled her name, burying his hand in her hair and pulling his mouth to hers. She pushed him back towards the bed, remembering just in time that she wasn't going to be able to climb on top of him the way she might have done once.

"Jen?" It was too much to hope that he hadn't caught her frustration.

"Just realising my limitations."

"Did I hurt you last night?" Their clasped hands helped her balance and she stepped towards him, shaking her head. "Then we'll work around it."

"We shouldn't have to."

"Practice makes perfect."

"Promises promises," she offered in return, smiling at him as she lowered herself to the bed, stretching out so she could look at him, her eyes lingering on the evidence of his arousal. "You have too many clothes on."

It wasn't like the previous night and, despite the tumult of what had gone before she wasn't taking refuge; the darkness and the shadows didn't engulf them. When she reached over to turn off the lamp he stopped her, clasping her hand with his and lowering his mouth to the valley between her breasts.

She'd forgotten it could be like this – that there could be joy and laughter. It wasn't reverential – she knew he saw her quite clearly, just as she saw him – reading in him a darkness equal to her own. But their affection became tenderness so easily her breath caught at the simplicity. When he slid into her it was as though they were two pieces of a whole – broken, with jagged edges, but fitting seamlessly together.

It was good, it was very good – her body felt fluid, buoyed by the pillow he'd slipped beneath her hips. She didn't think about what she couldn't do, there was still so much that she could, so much that gave them both pleasure.

They demanded and met those demands in equal measure, bodies pulsing together, words slipping from them both – requests that became breathy moans, airy pleas for more, exclamations and sighs that dissolved in the space between them.

She'd climaxed before he'd entered her, coming for his mouth and his hands. But the low, slow build was perfect for a second release and she could already read him well enough to know that he was close. She murmured what she wanted, her hand sliding up and down his back, circling her hips against his. He held her close – their bodies barely moving as they rocked against each other. Everything in him became tense, his eyes fluttering as he fought to keep them open, struggled to retain control.

"Let go," she told him and he did – pressing deeper and then staying buried in her as they both climaxed.

The night before they'd hardly known what to do with themselves afterwards, but now she kissed his temple and then squirmed as he dipped his head to taste the sweat at the base of her throat. When his teeth grazed her skin her body fluttered against him and he looked up at her, eyes darkening. As he repeated the action the aftershock rolled through her like a mini orgasm.

She couldn't move far, but this time it didn't matter. Cautiously she shifted onto her good side feeling him curl up behind her, his legs tangling with hers, an arm slipping under her head and a soft kiss pressed to her shoulder.

She didn't ask if he was staying and he didn't make any promises but, as she drifted off to sleep, she knew it wouldn't be a surprise if he was still there when she woke up.

TBC


	12. Omne initium est difficile

A/N - thanks for the reviews. Sorry for the delay between updates; I was struggling a little with the plot. Hope this makes up for it.

**Part 12 **

_Omne initium est difficile - Every beginning is difficult_

Tony knocked on the door to the apartment, slightly nervous that he was going to push things too far, that if she was tired after long and demanding hours at the hospital Jeanne might not appreciate a visit first thing on a Saturday morning.

They'd made vague plans to do 'something' later but hadn't got as far as deciding what. He hoped that the coffee and croissants from a bakery nearby that she'd mentioned liking would be enough to persuade her that his appearance was a good idea.

His talk with Gibbs last night had helped in a way – but the instincts he was supposed to be relying upon were the ones he normally ignored. They felt untried and unfamiliar and he was decidedly tentative when it came to trusting them. It was an effort to stop himself from falling back into old patterns of behaviour.

He was wondering about Gibbs as well. On the surface he had been his usual laconic self and it was an overstatement to say they had talked. But Tony knew a lot about the dynamics between men and women and he'd worked for Gibbs long enough to recognise that Jenny Shepard had got to him.

He wasn't certain that was an entirely welcome development, though he told himself that Gibbs would never let something like that effect the conduct of an operation. But this operation was already so tangled up that he couldn't help but think this was a complication they could do without.

His worries about the early morning visit receded when Jeanne opened her door, the surprise in her eyes giving way almost at once to happiness and he knew he had scored points when she cooed happily over the impromptu breakfast. Remembering about the bakery was such a simple thing; he couldn't quite believe how much it seemed to mean to her.

He pushed past the twist of his stomach and the knowledge that the romantic gesture had probably made her fall for him just a little more. He had a job to do and this was part of it. He might not be sure that Gibbs was taking his own advice – but Tony had every intention of heeding the warning not to get too involved.

He pressed his advantage – drawing Jeanne into a kiss that lingered and nearly became something more until he backed away. She made a little noise of disappointment and pouted, he grinned down at her and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. "Coffee's getting cold."

* * *

Gibbs had added a couple of other pieces of information to the puzzle that was Jenny Shepard. In the first place, she liked her space; he'd learnt that when, after only a few hours of sleep, she'd manoeuvred her way out of his embrace and stolen most of the blankets as she rolled over to the other side of the bed. Second – she needed coffee to be coherent in the mornings; a condition he shared and finally, on the weekends when Noemi didn't come in, she liked to cook breakfast.

The promise of coffee and breakfast had been enough to persuade him to follow her downstairs and now he was leaning against the counter, watching her move around the kitchen. He had dressed only as far as boxers and a t-shirt, not least because she was currently wearing his shirt – and nothing else. The coffee was a given, but the breakfast he was prepared to put on hold, especially if he could persuade her that they'd could just as easily drink their coffee in bed.

Their mutual silence on the subject of his still being here seemed to be the only way they could deal with it; some form of acknowledgment would presumably lead to having to work out what it meant. Despite the silence, she seemed comfortable with his presence and he was certainly in no hurry to leave.

"Coffee will be a couple of minutes," she said, effectively giving him permission to pass the intervening time in a way that they would both enjoy. He reached for her and pulled her towards him. She didn't object, one her hand slipped under his t-shirt to run along the waistband of his boxers as she settled against him. He kissed her lazily, then started to unfasten the top button of the shirt; toying with it, teasing her, before dipping inside to stroke her breast.

She pushed against him – the counter pressing against his back and another button yielded to his assault. He dipped his head to taste her – his mouth exploring the place her neck met his shoulder as she started to draw his t-shirt up his chest. He was about to guide her back towards the large, very sturdy kitchen table when he distinctly heard the sound of someone clearing their throat.

"Sorry to interrupt," Cole Garrett said as they stepped back from each other – though he didn't sound all that apologetic. Gibbs frowned, not happy about having his morning disturbed especially not at that precise moment.

Jenny knew she was blushing as she fastened the shirt back up, but she shot Cole a look that had him raising his hands in defence and saying a little more genuinely, "I didn't realise you had company."

She looked between the two men, seeing the muscle tightening in Jethro's cheek, reading in his stance that he didn't particularly like the fact that Garrett was here and apparently had licence to just stroll in and out of her house. She could feel the sudden tension in the room and didn't want to sacrifice her good mood to a playground squabble.

"I'll put some clothes on," she told Cole, "Jethro will pour you a coffee." Before she stepped away she touched Gibbs' cheek, drawing his gaze back to her. It wasn't exactly an apology, but her way of communicating that she regretted the interruption as much as he did.

Neither of the men spoke until she was out of sight and hopefully out of earshot, Gibbs concentrated on pouring the coffee and grudgingly finding an extra cup for their guest.

He was all too aware that he wasn't dressed while Garrett was looking expensive and put together in his Saturday casuals. "Are you sure it's a good idea to mix business and pleasure _Agent_ Gibbs?" The emphasis on his title was apparently supposed to reinforce the point, but Garrett backed off in the face of his stare. "Forget I said that, I'm feeling over-protective; we almost lost her two months ago."

Faced with the man's honesty, Gibbs couldn't help but respond. "That's understandable," he conceded.

"Jen would kill me if she thought I was interfering – so I'm not." He pulled up a chair and settled at the table, adding sugar to his coffee. "We're friends," he said in response to the question Gibbs was determined not to ask, "there was a time when we were more than friends – once upon a time I even asked her to marry me. But that was a lifetime ago."

It wasn't any of his business and he had no intention of asking what had happened; didn't need to. They weren't married; Garrett had married someone else, had a daughter with her and then all but lost his wife. "She changed when her father died and for a while I couldn't be around her. But when Claudine had the stroke she was the only person I could stand to call. She just dropped everything and got on a plane. I was a mess; Jen kept me going when I just wanted to crawl away and hide. The only thing she wouldn't do was hold the baby – she thought it wasn't her place. That only lasted about a week, Gigi fussed a lot and I was dead on my feet; Jen was the only other person I trusted with her. There was one day when I just plonked the baby in her arms and went to bed – when I woke up it wasn't an issue any longer."

Garrett stared into his coffee cup as though it held some answer that had eluded him so far. Gibbs watched him, waiting – not entirely sure his companion had said all he planned to on the subject. He didn't believe the conversation was pre-meditated – Garrett had not expected him to be here after all. So why make use of this opportunity?

"So, we've established that I'm not interfering," Garrett said with a wry grin, that of a man who knew how important it was to establish an alibi.

"You scared of her?" Gibbs asked.

"Absolutely and if you have any sense you will be as well." But Garrett was smiling, "the thing about Jenny is, she doesn't let people get close to her easily. I trust her judgement so I am going to assume that she knows what she is doing when it comes to you."

It was, Gibbs decided, more approval than he would have given the other man if their positions were reversed. He was slightly surprised that Garrett had restrained himself from issuing a warning not to hurt her, or something equally melodramatic. It only reinforced the impression that he really did know Jen and cared about her.

They were sitting in a semi-comfortable silence when she returned, now dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He thought it was a pity that she had changed out of his shirt but knew better than to mention it. "Do you mind if I take a shower?"

"Help yourself," her smile was just a little a regretful – as though she was thinking that they might have shared it.

He took his time, eventually making his way downstairs to find her sitting in the chair he'd vacated earlier; there was no sign of Garrett. "Everything all right?"

"Cole has to work today; he wanted to know if he could drop Gigi off for the day after her ballet class."

She sounded pleased, but there was something about her expression, a flicker of wariness in her eyes perhaps; his gut tightened, the explanation logical but not particularly palatable. "You had me checked out." He levelled the accusation at her and she looked up, not flinching from his gaze.

"_I_ checked you out – after Fornell brought you on board. You might have noticed that I have a suspicious mind." Well, there was no denying that.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I wasn't looking for anything – and what I found out was only useful to the extent that it revealed potential weaknesses or motivating factors. Having the information is not the same as making use of it." He wasn't used to someone knowing his secret and giving no indication of it. He didn't know what he thought about that, or about the fact that she concealed what she needed to with breathtaking ease. But perhaps she thought the same thing about him.

"I wish there hadn't been anything to find Jethro, but since there was give me credit for knowing when some things are marked 'no access.'" If there had been any pity in her voice or her expression he'd have likely walked out and this time not come back. But that wasn't the person that she was.

He might have been the one to pursue her, but in that pursuit she'd opened up far more than he had – and she knew it. But she didn't seem to resent that anymore than she seemed to resent the secret, or his reluctance to share his pain now.

He still didn't know how he felt that this thing between them had developed despite her knowing about the family he had lost. Left to herself he wondered if she would ever have told him that she knew.

"You don't have to stay," she pointed out, "I wouldn't ask that of anyone."

He thought about the child he'd met. The little girl who had clung tightly onto a woman she clearly adored. Assuming that he wouldn't want to be around them was, he decided, a rare miscalculation on her part.

"I'll be back this afternoon," he said, leaning over to kiss her. Her confused expression was adorable and he smirked, enjoying her being on the back foot for once. "Mind if I bring a friend with me?"

* * *

Gibbs was starting to think this might not have been one of his better ideas. True, Abby had wanted to meet Jen and the weekend was a good opportunity for that to happen – with Gigi around to add to the relaxed atmosphere. But, Abby was flitting between anxiety and excitement with a speed that made him wonder how many Caff Pows she had already consumed. At least he had persuaded her to leave the hearse behind.

But he knew that there would be problems if Abby didn't take to Jenny. Her role in the team was so fundamental, she could lift their mood or she could add to worry and contribute to disquiet. Already her concern over Tony and his undercover mission was warring with her curiosity about Jen and, knowing Abby, her awareness of his interest in the woman.

He was under no illusions that she suspected that his involvement with Jenny wasn't entirely professional and was only grateful that she hadn't mentioned it directly. Though he knew there were no guarantees about what she might say when she came face to face with Jenny.

"Is this the house?" She said as he pulled over. She got out of the car, slowly looking around her, "is it meant to feel like a fortress?"

"That's the general idea."

When the door opened she ducked behind him, peeping out when her curiosity got the better of him. He watched her eyes go wide when she realised that her stance almost entirely echoed that of the little girl peeping out from behind Jen.

"Jenny Shepard, meet Abby Scuito," he said when she stepped out from behind him.

"Hello, Abby" Jen smiled and turned to the child still curled into her side, "this is Gigi." She nodded towards him and asked the child, "do you remember who this is?"

"Jethro?"

"That's right," he replied and then remembering the way she had switched between languages when they'd last met. "Bonjour Gigi, comment ca va?"

"Ca va bien," she replied easily – her gaze creeping past him towards Abby, a mixture of awe and excitement in her eyes.

"This is my friend Abby," he told her. "Would you like to say hello to her?"

"Bonjour Abby,"

"Hello – you have a very pretty name."

Jen stepped aside to let them in, her hand resting on Gigi's shoulder. "Are you going to tell Jethro and Abby about your name?"

"It's short for Giselle Garrett," the little girl said proudly, "my initials are G.G."

"Cool, my name's short for Abigail – but that's not as good as yours."

"We're making cakes," Gigi told her, "Tante Jenny, can Abby help?"

"Of course she can – do you want to show her?" Gigi reached for Abby's hand and pulled her towards the kitchen. "And that's your forensics specialist?" Jenny asked.

"She's the best." He informed her and though she looked sceptical for a moment she nodded. Before she could follow the others into the kitchen he caught her by the waist and held her to him. "You OK?"

"Tired, she's full of energy and I didn't get all that much sleep last night for some reason." He smirked as she leant back against him.

"Abby can run around the garden with her – wear her out."

"I take it I'm supposed to make a good impression?"

He kissed her neck and let her go, choosing not to respond to the question. It was complicated anyway – Abby was perceptive, difficult to fool and Jenny was one of the most complex women he had ever met. Normally he would trust Abby to see beyond the superficial but her worry about Tony, the vibe she had picked up from Ziva – all of that might get in her way. But there was nothing he could do – he had to let them work it out for themselves.

Gibbs concentrated on making the coffee and left the baking to Gigi and Abby, with Jen supervising from the sidelines. It was messy and more than a little noisy – reminding him far too much of a time when his own home had been filled with noise and laughter. But he shook the memories off and concentrated on Jenny, her expression just a little sad as she looked at Gigi – making him wonder if she regretted not having children of her own.

She looked over and caught him watching; though she smiled it wasn't enough to shake off the sadness he saw in her eyes. It made him want to reach out and touch her. But with Abby there he held back - and tried to ignore the lingering feeling that somehow that had been a mistake.

* * *

"Gibbs is magic." Abby told Gigi as they sat in the corner of the garden together while the cakes were in the oven. "He has all of these special powers."

"Really?" Abby smiled, her new friend was adorable.

"Totally. So – is Jenny your aunt?"

"I call her Tante Jenny, but she's my godmother. My mummy is sick – she lives at the hospital. Sometimes daddy takes me to visit her." Abby bit her lip and didn't ask her little friend how ill her mother was; if she lived at the hospital clearly she wasn't coming home anytime soon. "Abby – is Jethro Aunty Jenny's boyfriend?"

"I've been wondering that," she replied, "maybe you should ask her." The two girls giggled together. "I think he really likes her" Abby said as she looked back towards the house where two figures were seated on the patio. From here it looked a lot as though the silver-haired fox was touching Jenny's face.

She wasn't surprised by Gibbs' interest – though she was surprised that he'd followed up on that interest while they were still involved in the case. This wasn't the same as Hollis Mann, or even the last ex-wife, Stephanie.

She didn't know what she thought about this new red head, although it was clear that none of the descriptions she had been given really did her justice. It wasn't in the physical sense that what she'd been told was lacking. After all McGee had said she was beautiful and Abby had no reason to dispute that. But no one had really talked about the sense of power and charisma she possessed - or the shadows. Abby could sense the darkness in her and though today she had witnessed nothing but kindness and warmth she understood why Ziva had said she was dangerous. It was a puzzle and though she normally liked puzzles this one might be better left alone.

"Some bad men tried to hurt her," Gigi confided, "it's why she has the stick to help her walk. They might come back"

"Gibbs won't let anything bad happen to her," Abby promised and then she shivered as though someone had walked over her grave. But Gigi was looking solemnly up at her, faith shining in her eyes and too late Abby remembered that for all of his super powers, Gibbs wasn't invincible.

TBC


	13. Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur

A/N - thanks for the reviews.

**Part 13**

_amare et sapere vix deo conceditur - _Even a god finds it hard to love and be wise at the same time

Perhaps he should have been more concerned by the relative peace that descended upon then. He knew it was an illusion – a moment of calm that couldn't possibly last. But uncharacteristically he took it at face value, didn't try to second guess what might be around the corner.

It wasn't as if he didn't have other things to think about; with the investigation into Jasper Shepard's death stalled the team was picking up other cases again. Though these investigations deserved their skill and attention, they were solved by hard work and forensics expertise. They didn't leave him feeling emotionally spent; which made it easier to end some days with Jenny rather than in his basement with the boat.

Things between them were surprisingly easy – another thing he should probably be suspicious of. But actually he was enjoying getting to know her – seeing her at her best and at her worst. He'd witnessed an impressive display of temper, fortunately not directed at him, when someone had written a review of her book that accused her of peddling conspiracy theories. He'd seen her frustrated and in pain after her physical therapist had changed her exercise regime. One night he'd found her sitting in the dark looking at photographs of La Grenouille – he hadn't commented, just joined her on the couch and let the images scroll until she fell asleep leaning against him.

But apart from those instances the time they spent together wasn't particularly dramatic. His continued efforts to get her to leave the house took them to quiet coffee shops and out of the way bars. They talked – sometimes about his cases, more often about other subjects and when the silence fell between them it was comfortable, not strained.

Respecting each other's demons meant knowing when not to push, but he didn't know yet if that respect would endure and whether their mutual need for space and distance would prevent their relationship from deepening. His relationships and marriages had floundered because he held himself back, unable to give or accept intimacy. If they didn't ask that of each other he wasn't sure what that would leave them with, he wasn't sure they were capable of maintaining something casual.

But right now it worked and it wasn't all drama and darkness. That was more than enough.

He arrived back from a coffee run to find Ziva and Fornell glaring at each other across the bull-pen. There was no sign of either Tony or McGee – who had likely made themselves scarce. But Ziva was eyeing her desk supplies in a way that made Gibbs think she was planning her attack. Her mood had been up and down of late and they had all been wary of provoking her – but he knew enough to know when not to ask.

"I need him alive," he told her. She looked a little disappointed – but nodded her understanding. "Go and find where DiNozzo and McGee are hiding and tell them to get back to work." She stalked away without looking back and he turned to Fornell, "of all the people to piss off."

"Your team is out of control," he retorted, "I did nothing."

"Needling her about her partner being undercover without her does not count as nothing." He pointed out, Fornell's expression all the confirmation he needed that he'd guessed right. "Conference room?"

"If we must."

"What are you doing here Tobias?" He asked as soon as the lift was stalled.

"I've been asked to bring you along to a meeting."

"Who's this a meeting with?"

"CIA asset – Trent Kort." The two men regarded each other in silence until Fornell added, "looks like the plan is working." But Gibbs wasn't so easily convinced.

"Why did they come to you?"

Fornell shrugged, "my time at Homeland Security gives me clearance and contacts – plus they know you and I go back."

"You think they know you're already involved?"

"The request to find out the truth about Lodestone came from one other person – I'm assuming he can keep a secret and has access to a secure line. I think I'm supposed to make sure you do as you're told."

Gibbs didn't like the fact that they had used Fornell to arrange the meet, but his gut agreed with Tobias' analysis. Which meant as far as the CIA was concerned, Jenny Shepard was using NCIS to continue her pursuit of La Grenouille. The truth had turned out to be an effective smokescreen – just as she'd suggested. "When's the meet?"

"When I make the call."

The arrangements were made quickly and though Gibbs didn't like the idea of getting into a car with a CIA agent of dubious loyalty he didn't have a great deal of choice. He couldn't decide if the news that the FBI would be driving made him feel safer or not.

They waited on the sidewalk, browsing the contents of a newstand. "You've got to be kidding me," Tobias said, looking down at the magazine Gibbs was holding. He hadn't been paying attention really; certainly he hadn't really noticed that he had picked up a bridal magazine.

"Old habit," he replied, grimacing.

"Some habits need to be broken."

"That what you tell Diane?"

A dark car pulled up to the kerb and Fornell's nod confirmed that this was the meeting. For a moment Gibbs wished he'd asked Jenny more about Kort, sure she had all kinds of information about him tucked away. But he was used to assessing people quickly – even those trained to be guarded, to conceal.

He recognised the man in the back of the car from Jenny's photographs. Kort's lips were already curling into a sarcastic snarl – arrogance and aggression coming off him in waves. "So, you're the over-zealous Fed who's jeopardising a long standing CIA operation?" It wasn't so much that the gloves were off – as far as Gibbs could tell the gloves had never been on.

"This how they talk all the time?" He asked Fornell – who looked about as happy to be there as he was.

"Well – you know Langley; sometimes they don't bother to talk at all."

"You're interfering in things you know nothing about." Kort snapped, "not a smart move."

"I'm looking into an old case," Gibbs responded.

"There is no case – the investigation was closed a long time ago."

"Convenient for some people." At the remark Kort laughed; a hard sound, full of derision.

"Is that what she told you? You do know you're taking orders from a woman whose whole life has been taken over by obsession and the desire for revenge?"

"If there's nothing to find – why are you worried about someone looking?"

"That's not the way this works, Agent Gibbs – Jenny Shepard has spent years pursuing Grenouille and now she's dragged you into the mix – if you're smart you'll back off." He met Kort's gaze for a moment – there was nothing behind his eyes. "Has she told you about her mother? No? You should ask her about that."

Still Gibbs didn't say anything – experience had taught him how powerful silence could be and Kort was arrogant enough not to realise that the more he talked, the more he revealed. It was a bonus that his silence was all too evidently getting to Kort. "Do you understand what I am telling you?" The CIA agent spat, "you do not want to interfere with this operation."

"Your bosses going to stop me?"

"If they have to. You think Grenouille is just going to just turn a blind eye?"

"Did your employer kill Jasper Shepard?"

"I don't know, before my time. But Grenouille doesn't do things himself – he doesn't need to."

"And he has the CIA to clear up his messes."

"If you knew anything Agent Gibbs you'd know that Grenouille doesn't make messes." It was one of the few things Kort said that he actually believed.

"So how does he feel about the fact that Jenny Shepard is still alive?"

"Someone was sloppy – not Grenouille and not me. The lady has a talent for making enemies."

"This is going well," Fornell commented, breaking the angry silence – though not the staring match.

"If your friend here was thinking with the right head we wouldn't be having this problem."

"She a red head?" Fornell asked, turning to Gibbs – a hint of amusement in his eyes as he pretended never to have met Jenny Shepard. When Kort nodded he rolled his eyes, "all of his ex-wives were red heads."

"You done?" Gibbs asked Kort.

"Apparently," he glanced over at Fornell, "maybe you'll have more success, your friend here needs to listen to the advice he's being given."

"He isn't big on listening."

"The people I work for aren't big on interference and they prefer to let their actions speak for them."

"Is that a threat?" Gibbs asked.

The CIA agent smiled menacingly and didn't answer – as the car pulled over he said,"Jenny Shepard isn't worth the risk, trust me."

"You don't know the meaning of the word." Gibbs replied as he pulled the door open and stepped out of the car.

* * *

"I don't like this," Tony said – looking across the bullpen to Gibbs' empty desk; Ziva shrugged and McGee glanced up from his computer and then looked down again – effectively opting out of the conversation. But it wasn't going to be that simple, "he's been gone too long. McGeek – trace his cell."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" McGee responded.

"It's not," a familiar voice answered from behind them.

"Boss! I was just…"

"Save it," Gibbs snapped clearly not interested in Tony's attempt at an explanation. "Just had a visit from the CIA – they want us to stay away from La Grenouille."

"But we're not going to, are we?"

"What do you think DiNozzo?" Gibbs looked around, his gaze settling on McGee. "Have you and Abby worked out how to intercept his communications yet?"

"We're still trying – it's complicated because…"

"You have til the end of the day. I want to know where he is and I want to know who he's talking to." McGee swallowed, "Go!" Gibbs yelled, watching the younger agent sprint for the elevator. "Ziva – I want everyone on their guard – including Abby and Ducky. I don't want Kort or his friends anywhere near my people." She nodded and headed off in the same direction as McGee.

DiNozzo looked wary, but seemed resigned when Gibbs summoned him to the elevator and then hit the halt button. "Kort didn't mention you, or Jeanne – I don't whether he knows or not, but I'm going to assume he does. I expect you to be careful."

"Got it." Tony frowned – aware that this was about as close as Gibbs got to expressing concern. "What about Shepard?"

"She's my next call."

* * *

Her glasses were perched on her nose, files were spread out around her and there was a glass of bourbon within reach. It was late and rather than continuing to work in her study, she had taken her papers to a more comfortable setting. She was reviewing research and intelligence data – looking for trends and patterns. She couldn't really explain how she did what she did – some of it was technique of course, but at least part of it was instinct; something in her head that joined disparate pieces of information together and more often than not got results.

"Is there a reason you're lurking in the shadows?" She said without looking up – though when he didn't reply she glanced up to see the smile flit across Jethro's face.

"Enjoying the view," he responded, making no move to approach her. She'd given up worrying about the fact that the people who worked for her had apparently decided to grant him access to her home at all times of the day or night. But there was no denying the rush of pleasure at seeing him standing in the doorway to her bedroom. As they gazed at each other he pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against and wandered over to her.

She'd been planning to say something about the view being better close up – but her mouth was suddenly dry. Carefully she put her papers away and placed the files on the nightstand, dropping her glasses on top.

The strap of her camisole top slipped off her shoulder and as he settled beside her his fingertips traced its path. She watched him, enjoying seeing the concentration on his face as he touched her.

"Jethro," she breathed, letting her head all back. It was all the encouragement he needed and his body pressed her back into the pillows as his mouth avidly sought out hers.

Clothes were removed easily, the comforter separating them was pushed away and then, when he was least expecting it she pressed her body against his; rolling him over and straddling him.

It wasn't the most elegant move she'd ever made but this new mobility was precious because it had been hard won. The expression of lust in his eyes as she sank down onto him was worth every second of pain.

"God Jen," he moaned, his hands reaching for her.

"Surprise," she said quietly, raising herself up a little and then sinking down again as his hands clamped around her hips to offer additional support.

His enthusiasm for this new aspect of their repertoire was infectious. They pushed each other on and up – drawing things out a little before tumbling over the edge and collapsing in a sweaty, sated tangle.

"Met someone who knows you today," he said sometime later – stroking his hand along the length of her spine.

"And how was Mr Kort?" she said – turning to look at him, eyes half-closed in lazy abandon, lips swollen, hair falling over her face and shoulders in a hopeless tangle. He was so entranced by this image of her that he almost didn't answer.

"He said I should ask you about your mother." The pain flickered across her face and he cursed himself for ruining the moment.

"Of course he did; my mother died when I was five – one night her car drove off the road. She'd been drinking." The rough edge of grief in her voice was enough to make him reach for her. But she shrugged him off.

"Anyone else involved?" She shook her head and he didn't know if he could ask her why she thought Kort had thrown this into his path.

But perhaps he didn't need to ask – that death, deliberate or accidental, seemed to explain her reaction years later to her father's death. No wonder she didn't want to believe her father had killed himself.

* * *

Later that evening, Trent Kort – CIA agent, manager of distribution for an international arms dealer and whatever else the circumstances demanded, settled into a well upholstered seat on a private jet.

His companion waited until the take-off had been completed before setting aside his brandy and turning to face him. "Well?"

"Not a man to listen to friendly advice."

"She chooses her allies well," Rene Benoit commented lightly. Kort offered him the folder he'd brought with him and as he opened it a series of photographs slid out. Benoit tapped the image of Jenny Shepard standing close to Gibbs – both of them holding coffee cups. "Is it serious?"

"He's been married four times; his relationships don't last – I'm not sure she will be any different."

"Interesting," he moved the top photograph aside to reveal a different couple in the remaining images. "And this one?"

"A gigolo - he has a different woman every week."

"Not quite," Benoit replied lightly, "it's been some weeks now."

"It's a mission," Kort said firmly, "he's using her."

"My daughter likes to mend things; but – she hasn't mentioned him, so perhaps she also understands that it is a game, that he isn't someone she should try to heal." But his gaze lingered on the couple in the photograph, arms wrapped around each other, mouths pressed together.

"We could intervene," Kort suggested.

"Not yet," Benoit said – lifting the first photograph once more. "She is relentless," he said, almost to himself as he looked at the image of Jenny Shepard.

TBC


	14. Si vis pacem, para bellum

A/N - thanks for the reviews and my apologies for the delay. I was struggling a little but have got myself back into the groove with a little help from er, my friends and another fandom. You wouldn't think I'd need to borrow angst would you?

Anyway - hope you think it was worth the wait.

**Part 14**

_Si vis pacem, para bellum - If you wish for peace, prepare for war_

"I need a favour," Jeanne bit her lip and gazed into her coffee cup. It was Saturday and they had snatched some time together during her brief lunch break. She looked a little anxious about asking and Tony decided some humour might be appropriate here.

"OK," he drawled, "but it's going to cost you." He grinned wolfishly at her and then leant forward to kiss her.

Her enthusiastic response drew a shout of, "get a room," from one of her colleagues, which they both ignored.

"So about this favour?" he said when they eventually parted to catch their breath.

"My mother is in town – she wants to have dinner tonight. Could you come with me?" She smiled at him; clearly hoping that was persuasive, "please Tony."

"Are you scared of your mother?"

"No – my mother's wonderful. She just has very high standards and I could use the moral support." Normally he would have run a mile from a request like this, but this wasn't exactly a normal situation. He could see the opportunity here – see how it might help him further his mission.

It was a test as well of course, though she might not even recognise that was what she was doing. He had no doubt that sub-consciously she was trying to see how serious he really was about their relationship. He almost shook his head at that thought, but caught himself just in time – he was starting to sound way too much like Shepard.

"Why can't I say no to you?" he mused out loud, finding it alarmingly easy to be the new boyfriend, slightly anxious but still wanting to please her. She smiled brightly and threw her arms around his neck.

"Thank you!"

"You realise you're going to have to protect me if I don't meet these high standards your mother has?"

"I won't let her hurt you," she teased "and I'll be sure to express my appreciation _after_ dinner."

His lips grazed her ear as he whispered, "I can't wait," and she shivered. When she looked up at him her eyes were dark – want flickering in their depths. "I know we agreed to wait until it feels right," he tangled his hand in her curls and tugged her lips back to his, biting down on her bottom lip – making her squirm. "It feels right Jeanne,"

"Yes," she responded breathlessly, "it does."

Whatever he thought about what he was doing, he set it aside and concentrated on kissing her – a promise for later that ensured their dinner with her mother would be charged with intimacy and tension. Something she might pick up on – and if Jeanne didn't mention her new lover to her father, than perhaps her mother would. Either way his only object was to get this over with as quickly as possible – and to get out having done the minimum of damage.

* * *

"You planning on telling me what I'm doing here?" Jenny asked – hating the flicker of unease at seeing the crowds of people around them and knowing that her companion had seen it as well.

"A favour for a friend." She hesitated, just a moment too long and he touched her hand. She was grateful that he didn't say anything, though his expression communicated more than enough. The twist of her emotions in response was difficult to comprehend. She was at once irritated at his awareness of her weaknesses and comforted by his attempts to ease her anxiety. This new vulnerability was uncomfortable, she could feel it distracting her.

Even though she'd got past her reluctance to be out of the house it didn't mean she was ready for hundreds of people. In fact she was surprised that this was how he wanted to spend the afternoon. The friend in question was evidently important – or had called in an enormous favour. Or perhaps both.

He was frustratingly light on details as they wove their way through the crowds and she wasn't planning on begging. She did manage to work out that he had some destination in mind – otherwise they were walking a long way for no real reason. Her mobility was significantly improved but wandering across a field, dodging other people was still too much without the hated walking stick. He stayed close, hand on her back when she needed it – and actually when she didn't as well. Interestingly she didn't think it was entirely about giving her support – she could sense his discomfort and attributed the touch to his need, just as much as to hers.

At least when they got to their destination she understood why he was feeling uncomfortable. The favour had indeed been to someone important – Dr Mallard was going public on his relationship with a woman who was introduced as Dr Jordan Hampton and he'd obviously enlisted Gibbs as moral support for the exercise. She didn't entirely understand why he had chosen an Army vs Navy soccer match for the occasion, but decided it would be impolite to ask.

Jenny didn't know what she thought about being roped in as well, especially since there were about a dozen people here from NCIS. The party included Abby, who couldn't seem to decide if she should be friendly or aloof, and Agent McGee who made a valiant attempt at making her feel at least a little welcome.

The intelligence analyst in her was curious about the relationships on display here; though there was no sign of Tony or Officer David. She wanted to see how people not on his team responded to Jethro and wasn't entirely surprised when many of them gave him a wide berth – though not without casting curious looks in her direction.

She was certainly helping to distract people from Dr Hampton, which was probably the point. But then Jordan seemed to be handling the attention reasonably well, no doubt the affection everyone seemed to hold Ducky in helped. Jenny didn't expect to benefit from the same thing – Jethro was far more complicated and so was she.

Under normal circumstances she was sure her 'date' would have disappeared into the crowd at the first opportunity. But he stuck it out for longer than she would have expected, perhaps because Abby was there and she'd already realised that the two of them shared a certain special closeness. At least when he did decide he needed a break he took her with him.

"You're a good friend," she told him lightly as they wove through the crowds, only barely watching the soccer match. His mouth tightened in something that might either have been a smile, or a grimace.

"She's good for him," he said after a moment and she would have accused him of being sentimental, but actually he probably knew that already – which meant it was the very last thing she ought to tell him. She looked away and tried not to think about just how easy it was to read him at times. But it wasn't that simple, for either of them.

"Jethro!" In a crowd of people what were the odds of someone recognising one of other of them?

She could tell he hadn't been expecting it either – but he was smiling, his expression fond and when she saw the woman who was jogging over to them she understood why. She was long and lean, tanned, blonde – which was a surprise and judging by her smile just as pleased to see him. Jenny decided that she hated her – it was entirely unreasonable that anyone should look quite so fit and healthy, if she'd been a horse her coat would have been shining.

"You get bored of lying in the sun?" He was asking – the woman shook her head,

"I never get bored of that. A couple guys from my old unit are in the team – they made me come and cheer them on. I was planning on dropping by tomorrow – say hi." Her gaze flicked over to Jenny and then back to Gibbs, who tilted his head for a moment and while he was still deciding if he was going to introduce them she rolled her eyes and offered her hand, "Hollis Mann,"

"Jenny Shepard."

Jenny knew it didn't need someone with her skills at putting the pieces together to conclude that they'd been lovers; or that their parting had been comparatively recent and, if she was any judge, more in sorrow than in anger.

She swallowed a spurt of distaste as it became clear that Hollis Mann had recently retired from Army CID – it was they she blamed for the botched investigation into her father's death after all. From the way Hollis was asking after Jethro's team it was clear that their professional and personal lives had overlapped and Jenny wasn't particularly comfortable with the idea that she might be part of a pattern he was busy repeating.

But, she couldn't help but wonder how team Gibbs had taken to her predecessor. She could imagine the newcomer holding her own with the team, contributing to their investigations, fitting in easily, while all of the time they watched and tried to figure out what was going on between her and Gibbs. Since it seemed unlikely that she had sent one of them undercover on a mission that was considered morally suspect and highly irregular, they'd no doubt liked her a great deal - in their own way.

It was just as well that it wasn't their feelings she was interested in.

She wasn't a jealous person – she didn't normally let herself feel enough for another person to raise that spectre. But this was different; Hollis and Jethro seemed to converse so easily that she couldn't help but compare it to their conversations, some of which were anything but easy. Self consciously she tightened her hold on the walking stick, reminding herself of her ruined body as she looked at Hollis' athletic build.

"So – how's the boat? Has he got it out of the basement yet?" The question was directed at her and Jen could only shrug helplessly since she had no idea what Hollis was talking about.

"She's still there," Gibbs replied.

"He's still spending too much time down there I assume?" Again it was a question for her and perhaps Hollis was only trying to make her feel included, perhaps she had no idea how effectively she was doing the opposite.

Jenny didn't know anything about a boat, or a basement and she'd never been to Gibbs' house. This woman knew more about him that she did and she was whole – without dark secrets, without the taint of betrayal. The bile rose in her throat as she realised that she was the discordant element here – the one who didn't fit.

She was saved from making a scene by the arrival of Ducky and Jordan and while Ducky greeted Hollis, with perhaps a little caution, Jordan focussed on her; asking quietly if she was all right. If she hadn't liked her already Jenny would have blessed the other woman for her perceptiveness, for giving her an out when she so desperately needed one. She shook her head, murmuring something about her leg and allowed herself to be fussed over and then escorted back in the direction of their seats – leaving Jethro and Hollis to finish catching up.

Gibbs watched Jenny retreat – worrying about how pale she'd looked, wondering if perhaps he should have checked to see if she was really up to this.

"I see you've gone back to red heads," Hollis said lightly – smiling just a little when he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Just one," he responded – his gaze searching for Jenny, though the crowd had already swallowed them up.

"She is very beautiful," Hollis observed, with just a hint of a catch in her voice. "Are you happy Jethro?" He didn't know if he could answer that. He did know that he feared damaging Jenny less than any other woman in his life – and not just because she had her own demons. She was sharp and tough – resilient in a way few people were. He knew she could be hurt, he thought it likely he could hurt her; he was certainly capable of thoughtlessness. But he also knew that she didn't need him to protect her, to try to pretend to be whole.

Mentally he compared the two women and knew he could never be what Hollis needed, or even what she wanted – even if he had the energy or the desire to try.

He had no idea what Jenny expected of him – but he believed she had very few illusions about him – which was a welcome respite. "You should try to hold onto this one," Hollis told him as though she had seen something of his thought processes, or at least recognised in the other woman something she hadn't been able to give him.

He wasn't ready to think about holding onto Jenny, not least because he suspected it would be difficult. Jenny Shepard didn't strike him as a woman who held onto anything much – except her enmities.

* * *

He talked to Hollis for a while – but he was uneasy with Jenny out of sight and he didn't make much of an attempt to hide it. At half time she went to catch up with her friends – neither of them mentioning meeting up again. He thought that she might have been planning to use her visit to see if there was a chance at reconciliation, at least until she'd met Jenny. But she gave no sign of her disappointment – wishing him well before disappearing into the crowd.

It took him longer that he was comfortable with to work his way back to the area they had staked out as their own and when he got there he realised someone was missing. "Where's Jenny?" he asked as he looked around, his gut clenching.

"She wasn't feeling well," Abby offered – her expression worried. "I tried to make her wait for you, but she insisted on calling her own car." He had already fished out his cell and had dialled her number before Abby had finished the explanation. When there was no answer he swore and tried again. When she still didn't answer Ducky took a step towards him and said carefully,

"Jethro – I don't think she enjoyed meeting Hollis – perhaps you might give her a little time."

"I'm not sure how safe it is for her to be out without protection," he replied dialing another number, one that was picked up.

"Is she with you?" He demanded.

From the driver's seat Stanley looked into the rear view mirror, his eyes meeting those of his employer. "Yes,"

"Put her on,"

"I'm afraid that's not possible Agent Gibbs. Ms Shepard is asleep. " The dial tone was his only answer and he gathered that Gibbs was not happy with his answer.

"Thank you Stanley," Jenny said quietly; lying for her wasn't entirely in his job description after all.

"Are you ready to go home ma'am?"

"No – not yet, I'd like you to drive for a little while. I don't particularly care where we go."

* * *

Tony shifted in the bed and Jeanne, cradled in his arms, stirred but didn't wake. She was beautiful – more real than any other woman he had been with – beautiful in an entirely different way. He'd made love to her and finally known what the phrase meant – but everything had been a lie.

He pulled his mind away from what he had done, focussing on the reason for those actions. Jeanne had not exaggerated when she'd told him that her mother had high standards; he winced at the uncomfortable evening he had spent – the fact that he didn't measure up being driven home with every second.

He had been left in no doubt that as far as Jeanne's mother was concerned he was not exactly ideal boyfriend material. The only person she seemed to dislike more than him was Jeanne's father – her ex-husband. Tony thought that was at least a little amusing; he wondered if Jenny Shepard knew that there was someone who hated Rene Benoit more than she did.

He didn't need to know much about people to know that he would likely be the subject of a very irate phone call between Jeanne's parents. He had no idea whether it would be enough.

"You OK?" A quiet voice asked; he smiled looking down into her soft eyes and then pulled her little closer.

"Never better."

* * *

It was ironic that he'd ended up working on the boat after what Hollis had said; though maybe that was why he'd done it. He was starting to think that Jenny was like the sawdust caked on his skin – an irritant, but something he couldn't do without.

He took a long sip of his bourbon, trying to unravel what had happened. If Ducky was right Hollis' arrival had upset Jenny in some way. She hadn't stuck around to give him time to explain that things with Hollis were dead and buried, that even Hollis had seen that. He almost smiled at the idea that she might be jealous before he considered that perhaps a jealous Jenny Shepard was not someone he wanted to confront. Her departure and her silence had him on edge – that wasn't like her.

Almost on cue his cell phone rang – wearily he answered, knowing that a case would at least take his mind off this. "Gibbs."

"We've had a security breech," the voice on the other end of the line said, "you need to get here." This time it was Stanley who hung up.

Getting there wasn't the problem – not for someone who drove the way he did. The message from Stanley had been infuriatingly unspecific, but he wasn't sure what more he needed to know; a security breech was never going to be a good thing after all.

The man charged with Jenny's security was pacing outside the house, his expression grim. "Where is she?" Gibbs demanded.

"Inside."

"What happened?"

"After I picked her up, Ms Shepard had me drive around for a while – then she asked me drive her to Mr Garrett's house. We've only just got back." Gibbs didn't like the thought that she had gone running to Garrett, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

"Someone got in while you were out?" He concluded.

"The cameras are dead – one of my men is in hospital."

"Anything missing?"

"We're sweeping now, doesn't look like it. But something seems to have been left behind."

He didn't wait to ask about that – pushing past Stanley to go inside, halting suddenly when he realised that Jenny was standing in the doorway to the study; her attention riveted on something just inside the door. He spoke her name softly, concern flooding him when she didn't respond. He stepped towards her, placing a hand on her waist.

"You can't stay here, not until we're sure the house is secure," he told her. She tilted her head and looked at him for a moment, before her gaze returned to her desk.

"I'm not leaving," she responded, her tone flat, fixed. He looked past her – trying to work out what it was she couldn't take her eyes off; Stanley had said something had been left behind.

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

"Whisky," she whispered. He didn't understand – though now he looked more closely he could see there was a bottle of scotch in the centre of the desk.

"You drink bourbon." He pointed out, not sure he'd even seen any other type of whisky in the house.

"My father drank scotch," she nodded towards the bottle, "that was his favourite brand." Reflexively his hold on her tightened and finally she turned away from the study and looked up at him. "It's a warning," she told him and it was an interpretation he had no reason to doubt.

TBC


	15. Ipsa scientia potestas est

A/N - thanks for the reviews. Here's the next part. It was either going to be one long part or two shorter ones - I went for the latter... you'll see why.

**Part 15**

_Ipsa scientia potestas est _– Knowledge itself is power

The empty whisky bottle was the first thing that Gibbs saw when he entered the lab. Seeing the direction of his gaze Abby bit her lip and didn't launch herself at him – everything about his body language holding even her at bay. She hated seeing him like this.

Behind him trailed his team, looking wary as well as tired. This mission was having an impact on all of them – their dynamics changing, the pressure beginning to tell. Her gaze returned to Gibbs just as he managed to wrench his gaze away from the bottle. "What do you have Abs?" he asked softly and she wished he'd yelled at her instead, almost.

There was no doubt he was taking the break in and implied threat to Jenny Shepard very seriously and he wasn't going to like what she had to tell him.

"There's nothing on the cameras from the house and the motion sensors were disabled. It was very professional."

"An inside job?"

"Not necessarily – but they certainly knew the system and they managed to pick a time when the house was almost empty." That was what was worrying him of course, the possibility that it was someone on Shepard's staff.

"And the bottle?"

"I found a couple of prints on the bottle," she admitted. "But Gibbs it's not possible, I mean we..."

"Who did the prints belong to?" Again with the gentleness – she sighed, defeated and hit a button on one of her computers. The screen was filled with a photograph of a man who's remains were still in the autopsy suite. They'd exhumed Jasper Shepard's body – making it unlikely that he was in any condition to leave fingerprints behind.

Gibbs didn't speak – just looked at the photograph for a long moment and then spun away, dumping his coffee cup in the trash on his way out.

"This is not good," Abby breathed in the face of his retreat.

* * *

Gibbs strode angrily from the building, hoping that some coffee would clear his head; nothing else he'd tried had.

Jenny insisted she was fine, despite considerable evidence to the contrary, and had refused to let him stay with her. He could see her rebuilding the barriers he had already painstakingly dismantled once. It didn't seem possible that something as inconsequential as bumping into Hollis had caused this reaction – but it also wasn't just the break in.

He'd even suggested she stay with Garrett until they were sure the house was secure – but the idea had been dismissed out of hand.

A night spent working on the boat hadn't brought him much in the way of peace – but it had convinced him that something was going on with her, something he didn't know about. And he hated surprises.

"Jethro," he looked up at the sound of a familiar voice and found that Fornell had sidled into the line for coffee beside him.

"You following me now?" he snapped.

"Lucky guess. You look like hell," Fornell commented cheerfully, "woman trouble?"

"Don't," he growled.

His companion looked at him and then nodded once. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Someone broke into Shepard's house last night, left behind a whisky bottle with her father's prints on it."

"Sounds like someone's trying to send her a message."

"Well, she isn't listening."

"Nature of the mission," Fornell pointed out. "How's DiNozzo getting on?" Gibbs blew out a breath, not sure he really knew the answer to that.

"He's surviving," but even as he said it he realised that Tony had been quiet lately, too quiet.

"Director of CIA is impatient." Fornell said, "wants to know if this going to work?"

"Kort sniffing around, now the break in – looks to me like they're taking the bait." Gibbs replied carefully, sipping his coffee.

"Something you want to tell me Jethro?" He narrowed his eyes, not sure what he'd said or done to make Tobias ask him that. He hesitated and then decided that whatever was going on with Jenny was his problem and he kept his problems to himself.

* * *

"We need to do something about this," Abby said.

"It's not that simple," Tony pointed out, his gaze resting on each other the others in turn. No one argued with that, all of them aware they were in no position to debate his point.

This time Abby didn't resist the impulse to physical contact, pulling him into a hug and telling him fiercely. "It will be all right."

"I know you believe that," Tony said, patting her on the back.

"What do you mean?" she pulled back to look at him, her eyes wide with fear. Tony had no idea what to say to her and was grateful for Ziva's intervention.

"He means that it is not easy to hold onto who you are during a mission like this – you are always changed in some way."

"But I don't want him to change," Abby shook her head, refusing to accept the possibility and Tony took her by the shoulders and turned her back to her precious computers.

"If you want to help me, and Gibbs, then find us something we can use."

"There are no forensics – the only thing left is finding a way to keep tabs on La Grenouille. We've been trying to use the data Shepard sent over but..."

Tony looked between her and McGee. "Don't tell me the McGenius is stumped as well?"

"He seems to devote a lot of resources to not having his location tracked," McGee pointed out, adding with just a little attitude, "something to do with having a lot to hide."

"Yeah – about that..." Tony was interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone. It was his, or in actual fact, Tony DiNardo's. Conscious of everyone looking at him he hesitated for a moment and then answered, "I was just thinking about you," he said into the phone, turning away and stepping out of the lab.

Abby, McGee and Ziva waited, but there was no sign of Tony returning. "We need to know where Benoit is," Ziva reminded them.

"You think McGee and I haven't been trying?" Abby waved a hand towards the computers. "We thought we had something – not perfect of course, but enough to narrow his location down to about a 10 mile radius. But we can't get it to work," she huffed out a breath, obviously frustrated by the failure. "We've spent hours on it."

"That is not acceptable," Ziva snapped.

"I can't make it work if it won't!" In a rare loss of control Ziva lashed out, not at Abby but at the offending computer. Both McGee and Abby jumped and then took a step back from her, not too keen on being close to a Mossad assassin when she was int his mood. Fortunately Ziva looked horrified by her lapse and stalked from the lab without another word.

"Timmy," Abby whispered, looking scared and upset. He moved towards her, intending to give her a hug, but a loud beep stopped them both in their tracks.

"Is that...?" he breathed, hardly daring to finish the sentence outloud.

"It can't be," they scrambled towards the computer, "but it is!" Somehow the programme that should have worked, but hadn't, was coming online. "It works!" Abby cried out, bouncing up and down. "Itworksitworksitworksitworks," she repeated over and over.

"Abby," McGee was looking at the data scrolling across the screen, "Abby," he repeated more loudly to gain her attention. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"It can't," she shook her head, pigtails swinging. "Because if it meant what you think it means, that would mean,"

"La Grenouille is in DC," McGee finished for her.

TBC


	16. Nemo est supra legis

A/N - thanks for the reviews - I've had the bits of this chapter in my head for ages, I'm glad to have finally got to writing it.

**Part 16**

_nemo est supra legis - nobody is above the law_

Jenny was at her desk in the study; papers spread out before her as she and Cynthia went over some notes together. She knew that her research assistant was casting occasional worried glances in her direction but she didn't ask, apparently aware that her employer wasn't in the mood to volunteer anything.

The whole house was on edge and trying to pretend it was business as usual was taking a toll, even on her. Outwardly she had to remain calm and composed, which meant keeping everyone at arms length – even more than usual. Appearances were important after all and she knew she couldn't afford as much as a flicker of concern about the possibility of betrayal to show through. The game wasn't played out and Jenny Shepard didn't flinch.

She spared a thought for Jethro, who was sulking about her refusal to let him protect her. His white knight complex was his to deal with and maybe it was better this way. She worked best on her own – always had.

But the man in question wasn't too far away and if Jenny had spared a thought for why she hadn't heard from him recently it might have occurred to her to wonder what he was up to.

* * *

Gibbs got out of his car and crossed the street; Stanley looked up at his approach and set aside his copy of the Post. Wordlessly he handed Gibbs a file and watched as he scanned the contents – a hard scowl settling on his face as he absorbed its contents.

"Did you find this?"

"She did," Gibbs sighed; of course 'she' had. It was her business after all.

"How did this get past the vetting?" Stanley looked uncomfortable.

"It didn't," he admitted, "she knew all along." To forestall Gibbs' inevitable anger he added, "she didn't tell me either and it's my job to keep her safe." Well, at least now they knew how the whiskey bottle had found its way to the study.

"She's been feeding information to La Grenouille," Gibbs concluded, knowing that he shouldn't be surprised and then muttering under his breath, "damn it Jenny."

"Ms Shepard said it was up to me what I did with the information – it was my idea to call you." Gibbs fought past the bitter taste in his mouth left by the knowledge that Jenny hadn't asked for him to be brought into this; though she probably suspected that Stanley would call him.

He looked over at the house as the doors opened and Cynthia emerged. The two men exchanged glances – in perfect agreement that if it were up to them her links to La Grenouille would have her kept as far away from Jenny as it was possible to get.

* * *

"What kind of game are you playing?" Jenny looked up, almost smiling at the irate expression on his face as he burst into the study as though it was his house, not hers.

"Hello Jethro, how are you?" she greeted him calmly, preferring not to notice the little tremor of want in her stomach at the sight of him all riled up.

"If you need to ask..." he snapped back.

She held a hand up, determined to avoid an argument. "All right, so I don't need you to tell me that you're angry – with me."

"Were you planning to tell me about Cynthia at all? That she's been spying on you for _months_. Does the information you're using her to pass to La Grenouille compromise this mission?"

"She doesn't know that, no one knows about that except me, your team, Fornell and the Director of the CIA."

"The best way to keep a secret, is to keep it to yourself. Second best? Tell one other person - if you must. There is no third best." She wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

"Well, all right. Though if Fornell had kept to that, you and I would be completely in the dark. I don't think you'd have enjoyed that."

"How is that different to now Jen?" She rolled her eyes at his growl of frustration; though the throb of want was back.

"She wasn't here when Fornell visited – only Stanley was. She isn't a professional spy Jethro, she's a grad student who needs the money. I'm sure La Grenouille knows that as well as I do."

"More games," he sighed. "I'm beginning to think you two deserve each other."

The flash of pain in her eyes made him regret saying that. But she looked away, her voice slightly thick as she responded. "Perhaps we do."

"Jenny," he took a step towards her, catching hold of her elbow and drawing her up from her chair, tightening his hold when she started to pull away. "Don't put the barriers up again," he murmured.

"I can't help it." He caught hold of her chin, making her look into his eyes, seeing the darkness and the pain lingering in her shadows. Not knowing what this was really about he said carefully,

"Hollis was," when she flinched he knew he was right and sighed. "She's someone I care about."

"Why did it end?" Her voice was small and he wasn't used to hearing her sound that way. But he wasn't sure he could answer the question he knew she'd pushed herself to ask; not unless he was prepared to tell her more about his demons. Though perhaps he was protecting himself rather than her.

"She wanted more," it should have been a risky confession, it worried him that she nodded and seemed to accept it. Again he wondered how the two of them could ever survive if she refused to allow him to get any closer.

"She's everything I'm not," she told him carefully and he frowned for a moment – trying to compare the two women. He had to admit, Hollis had looked good; tanned, toned – her new lifestyle obviously agreed with her. But Jenny was... His eyes widened.

"Jen," he didn't get any further; he wasn't good with words, far better at actions. So he kissed her and though she froze for a moment it was only for a moment. He tasted her reluctance and then her fervor as she returned his kiss. He didn't entirely understand, still feeling as though he was missing something. Thinking about what that something might be was far easier than admitting that again she'd been the one to give more – that he'd ducked the opportunity to let her in.

When they parted she rested her head against his chest and though he didn't want to ask the question he made himself, "are there more secrets Jen?" She looked up at him; her expression blank, empty and he cursed when his cell phone interrupted the moment.

"What!" he snapped at whoever the unfortunate caller was, listening for a moment, before adding, "find them!" He shoved the phone back into his pocket, "got to go."

"What's going on Jethro?"

"Another case," he told her. She nodded and stepped out of his arms.

"Don't let me keep you." He didn't look back as he strode away, his mind already on DiNozzo, Abby's news that La Grenouille was in town enough to convince him that the undercover operation was unravelling. He couldn't exactly explain why he had kept the news from Jenny – perhaps because DiNozzo was his responsibility. But the lie had come far too easily.

* * *

Tony was telling Jeanne about a movie and she was laughing happily. The sun was shining; they were sitting at a pavement café opposite the hospital. A casual observer, a passer-by would mark them as lovers and think nothing more about it. They'd be right, but they'd be wrong as well. Nothing was what it seemed. God he was tired of this.

Jeanne looked over his shoulder, still laughing and her expression froze for a moment. "I don't believe it!"

"Don't believe what?" Tony turned, following the direction of her gaze and seeing a large dark car pull up alongside the café. "Jeanne?"

"I should have known," she whispered softly, getting to her feet. "Be brave," she said smiling down at him.

"Not your mother again," he groaned, he really wasn't in the mood for a second interrogation.

"Not my mother, my father."

Her father. Her father! His mind went into over-drive, thoughts flooding his brain, none of them good.

"Don't look scared, I promise he isn't anything like she is."

He knew that. And how did he know that. Jeanne ran over to the car and opened the back door – smiling happily again. Tony got slowly to his feet, as he followed her his mind latched onto one of those disparate thoughts which was that Jenny Shepard had been right, which meant she might just be a genius; which in no way altered the fact she scared the absolute crap out of him.

"Tony, this is my father." Jeanne reached for him, taking his hand as she pulled him forwards. Rene Benoit looked a lot like his photographs, but why hadn't Tony noticed that in those photographs he'd looked dignified? It was a disconcerting discovery, especially when he'd been expecting a monster. "Daddy, this is Tony."

"I've heard a lot about you," Rene Benoit said, holding out his hand. His dark eyes twinkled with what someone less suspicious than Tony would have identified as mirth. "Jeanne's mother was particularly eloquent on the subject."

Cautiously Tony shook hands with the man who was basically his quarry and, since there was very little alternative, invited him to join them for coffee.

At least he didn't have to contribute much to the conversation – Jeanne obviously hadn't been expecting her father and was asking him about his trip, how long he was staying. Tony tried to pay attention, but his mind skittered over the fact that Benoit was here, sitting across from him, being charming. For all that Shepard was brilliant and right – he had no way of letting Gibbs know about Benoit and he was damned if he was going to go through all of this and have the man slip away.

"I'm going to see if I can find someone to swap the rest of my shift with," Jeanne said, kissing her father on the cheek and then kissing Tony as well. The two men looked at each other until she was out of sight; it was Benoit who broke the silence.

"Perhaps we should complete our introductions now, Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony shook his head, "somehow I expected you to start by asking about my intentions towards your daughter," he quipped.

"Jeanne cares for you," he replied, "I wouldn't be here if she didn't, Ms Shepard chose well. But perhaps not as well as she thought."

"Excuse me?"

"Like many over-protective fathers, I decided to find out all I could about the man my daughter is dating. I have to say it was very illuminating. I found out a great deal about you Agent DiNozzo; I know all about your previous liaisons, your numerous run-ins with authority, I've even seen your financial details." Tony raised an eyebrow – this was an unexpected approach. "I'd offer you money – but I don't think you care about that. So, what would you say to the one thing that you don't have – an opportunity to join the family business?"

"Excuse me?" He didn't quite believe he'd heard that.

"Marry Jeanne, you'll make her a good husband and come and work for me." Tony shook his head, laughed just a little bit. This wasn't happening.

"I thought you were going to warn me off?"

"I don't need to – I have friends who can do that. Ms Shepard is persistent but I fear her attempts to implement me in her father's death will prove futile. I'll admit that using Jeanne to get to me was an unexpected approach and she is right, I would prefer that my daughter didn't discover too much about my business. But you and I are both men of the world. I think between us we can resolve this problem."

"If I say no?" Benoit shrugged.

"Accidents happen." He said simply.

Tony looked away, his gaze taking in the two men who had apparently been in the car with Benoit. He knew that they were both armed and though he didn't think they'd gun him down in the street where Jeanne could see – he wouldn't put it past them to have a back up plan in case he turned down her father's generous offer.

Mulling over his options he watched a dark van pull up in the street opposite. Everything seemed to slow down just a little as the doors opened. The woman who got out first was wearing a vest and carrying an unfeasibly large gun. Her expression was grim but there was a spring in her step as she snapped orders at the men following her. There was nothing Ziva loved as much as a rescue mission.

He watched Gibbs slide out of his car almost before it had come to a stop – Fornell hurrying to keep up. Then there was another van, more agents. He grinned and turned back to Benoit; his back was to the street, he had no idea what was about to go down.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to turn down your generous offer." He gestured behind him, "you see – they are all really keen to talk to you." Benoit turned his head, the sight of the agents converging on him barely upsetting his composure.

"I doubt I'll be troubling NCIS for very long."

"Yeah, about that…" Tony grinned as Ziva circled the two men standing by the car – detaining them with a single look and a wave of her weapon. Overhead a dark helicopter circled their position – they certainly weren't taking any chances here. "There's something you don't know."

"Rene Benoit," Fornell's voice called out, "need to talk to you – apparently you haven't been paying your parking fines." Tony grinned broadly, not really believing they hadn't been able to come up with anything better than this – but still not caring. He looked from Benoit, to Fornell, to Ziva and then finally to Gibbs. The latter gave him a slight nod – giving him permission it seemed.

"I am with NCIS," Tony said, "but this was all a favour, for a friend. Well, not so much a friend, as another agency. Meet Agent Fornell – he's with the FBI, but he has friends in high places. Way higher that you do. Really." For the first time Benoit started to look worried and Tony couldn't quite resist. He leant forward and said quietly, "this isn't about Jasper Shepard, that was just the smokescreen, all part of the game." He waited a beat, letting the information sink it. He probably didn't need to say anything else - but he figured he'd earned this moment. "She played you."

TBC


	17. Hoc est bellum

A/N - thanks for the reviews and my apologies for the long delay between updates. I hope you think this is worth the wait.

**Part 17**

_hoc est bellum – this is war_

After the sudden burst of activity the street was quiet and still. Gibbs watched DiNozzo as the euphoria ebbed away and the realisation of what would come next slowly sank in. He could see that the younger man had started to prepare himself even before Jeanne emerged from the hospital.

"Tony?" DiNozzo straightened his shoulders at the sound of her voice. "Where is everyone?" She sounded confused, not afraid, nor angry – not yet. Gibbs had enough compassion to feel sorry for her; she really had no idea what was about to descend upon her.

She clearly wasn't stupid; innocent perhaps, trusting – though that would probably change now. Gibbs wondered how it was possible that she had no idea what her father's business was. But, she'd grown up at arm's length from him, idolising him despite her mother's bitterness. She'd probably spent her summer vacation with him and he would have worked hard to keep her away from the truth – the adoring father, spoiling his youngest daughter.

He looked back at DiNozzo, knowing that the younger man believed that he had to do this and that he had to do it alone. Gibbs wanted to admire him for the courage it took to take responsibility – but he wasn't sure it was that simple.

"DiNozzo," he said quietly, the warning implicit in his voice. But Tony shook his head marginally and stepped away, turning towards Jeanne.

He watched, even as he mind calculated how much time Tobias had to get Benoit on side before the CIA found a way to shut him down, before they lost their chance at Lodestone. He didn't have time to watch the small drama playing out in front of him – but he found he couldn't look away either.

They stood close together, talking intently, though in fact DiNozzo was the one doing most of the talking. His body language was careful, full of contrition. Gibbs watched the disbelief dawn in Jeanne's expression, saw her shake her head urgently and then stumble away from Tony in horror.

"It's not true!" She held out a hand to ward Tony off as he stepped closer and Gibbs winced; anticipating what would come next, knowing that DiNozzo had seen it as well. But he let her slap him anyway, let the blows rein down on his chest – only moving to grasp her wrists after long moments when he'd stood his ground against her anger and pain. "How could you!"

The broken tone in her voice sent shivers down Gibbs' spine but as he stepped forward to intervene it was Tony that he was thinking about.

"It's his job," he said, stepping between them, placing himself directly in her line of sight. "Agent DiNozzo," he stressed the name and title firmly, "didn't have a choice in the matter. He was following orders." He let his eyes flick to DiNozzo, "wait in the car," he told him, not pressing his point when DiNozzo appeared torn for a moment; only realising when it was too late that he was setting a test of loyalty. But it wasn't only DiNozzo that he needed to protect.

Tony wavered for a moment longer, before yielding.

Gibbs looked back at Jeanne Benoit; the pain in her eyes was stark, but there was a burgeoning anger there as well. "If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at me," he told her, "DiNozzo's on my team, I give the orders." She narrowed her eyes, but he wasn't finished. "And when you're done with that – remember that your father steals guns and sells them to the highest bidder for a living."

His cell rang before he reached the car. "Gibbs."

"We need her," the voice on the other end of the line said and he knew at once that Fornell wasn't talking about Jeanne Benoit.

"Tobias," he warned.

"Once they know we have Benoit we have to be able to follow through, I need Shepard." He could hear the pressure the other man was under in his voice. His gut told him that putting Jenny in the same room as Rene Benoit was not a good idea – but they had little choice.

Jenny was waiting for them, standing in her hallway, Stanley hovering close by. Her expression was carefully blank – no anger, no irritation despite his deception. When her gaze slipped past him towards DiNozzo he realised that she didn't blame him for not telling her why he'd left, for keeping her out of what had gone down. Instead she thought that she deserved the lie.

He didn't ask how she knew; he refused to believe her capable of that level of prescience. But she offered him the explanation anyway as she stepped past him heading towards the car. "Fornell called. Apparently I'm the only one he'll talk to."

DiNozzo looked up as she approached, his face registering surprise when her hand touched his arm, something that might have been understanding and certainly wasn't pity in her eyes for just a moment. He pulled himself up a little straighter and didn't recoil when she started to ask questions.

Gibbs fidgeted, impatient to have this over with and all the time aware that he should have been the one to question to DiNozzo. But Jenny had taken control so easily and he bristled against the knowledge that he had done nothing to stop her. He didn't want to consider that he was jealous of the way Tony seemed to be responding so easily to her authority, when he had no reason to trust her.

But she hadn't asked for trust, she'd asked for information, asked him to tell her exactly what Benoit had said. For a moment Tony seemed to be almost his old self as she questioned him; his reported response to Benoit's offer affording a moment of grim amusement. He missed the way Tony's posture straightened when he bit out a "good job DiNozzo," but Jenny didn't, shooting him a quick smile of approval.

"Can we go now?" he asked, knowing he sounded like a whiny teenager.

* * *

"You took your time," Fornell ground out as Gibbs strode into the interrogation suite, Jenny a step behind him and Tony bringing up the rear.

Jenny rolled her eyes at the immediate tension between the two men; Fornell on edge, Jethro clearly not comfortable in the unfamiliar, FBI dominated, surroundings. It was pretty much a recipe for disaster. But it wasn't just them – the atmosphere was electric, word of something big going on had clearly spread and she'd been aware of the whispers and many curious gazes that had followed her admittedly slow progress across the squad room to the small group of interrogation rooms.

She shook the feeling off; knowing that too much was at stake to be distracted by it now and turned to Fornell. "Has he said anything?"

"Well, he hasn't asked for an attorney," Fornell shot a penetrating look her way, "his only request has been to speak to you. Something you think I need to know about the two of you?"

"Not a thing," she replied guilelessly. "What else is happening?"

"CIA Director knows we have Benoit, but won't make a move unless we have his co-operation."

"He doesn't want to risk his authority," she murmured, knowing it made sense but aware that it meant there would be no one to call off Kort and his friends if they tried to get Benoit released. Except of course, he didn't know that.

Her eyes came to rest on the closed door of the room where her nemesis was being held and she accepted that their only chance was the difference between what they knew and what they could get Benoit to believe.

"I'm going in with you," Jethro said firmly and when Fornell looked ready to argue she shook her head slightly. It might be that he didn't entirely trust what would happen when she faced La Grenouille for the first time, didn't entirely trust her. But, she wasn't sure she entirely trusted herself either and she'd rather have him in there with her than anyone else – even if it destroyed whatever was left between them.

Just before she stepped into the room she felt a gentle touch to her shoulder; her hand tightened on the door handle as his fingertips found the spot where all her tension was collected and kneaded it gently.

After a moment of silence he asked, "you planning to let me help Jen?" and she made herself turn her head so she could look at him. Not so much surprised by his words, as by the gruff tone they were spoken in. Though she hated herself for the weakness she closed her eyes and leaned into him, her forehead resting on his chest – just for a few seconds.

When she looked up she knew that she didn't need to ask him to watch her back, that he'd do so without question. Just as she knew that whatever he felt for her, however strong a hold she had on him, he'd stop her from going too far. Be the safety net she did not want to admit to needing.

She wished she could find the words to tell him what that meant – but they had run out of time. The enemy was at the gates and sacrifices had to be made.

* * *

Jenny Shepard stepped through the doorway into the small room and found herself looking into the cold eyes of the man who had killed her father. She knew that it didn't matter what the evidence said, what the autopsy reports showed – it was possible to kill someone without laying a single finger on them.

"Your photographs do not do you justice Ms Shepard." Benoit's voice was like velvet, his tone edged with irony and it was enough to pull her back from the precipice of her thoughts, because he did not sound like a man who believed he had anything to be worried about. It was as though this was a social meeting and she half expected him to take her hand and brush his lips over it.

When his eyes drifted to her walking stick she didn't miss his dark, malevolent pleasure at finding her less than whole.

"You asked to see me," she remarked as she pulled out a chair across from him and sat down. In her peripheral vision she was aware that Gibbs has taken up a position leaning against the wall, where he could see everything. His presence was a powerful talisman and she knew that she could do this, had to do this.

A smile curled over the corner of Benoit's lips, "I was curious to meet you, I do not normally make the mistake of misjudging my enemies."

"You'll understand if I don't apologise about that."

Gibbs watched, not entirely sure which of them was more dangerous right now. He almost couldn't make himself look away from Jenny, her eyes seemed to glow and her hair was like flames as it fell across her shoulders. Everything about her was sharper, colder somehow, never more so than when she spoke the next words; dropped them into the conversation like ice cubes into a glass.

"My operation was sanctioned at the highest levels." She tilted her head when Benoit did not respond, her tone becoming conversational. "You may not realise this but things have changed, the CIA has changed. Operation Lodestone doesn't fit so well with the current political climate. You're a businessman, I'm sure you understand the need to respond to change and I'm offering you an opportunity to do just that."

Benoit gave no sign that he had heard a word of what she had just said, "I knew you were determined, ruthless even – but I did not imagine you to be capable of such subtlety."

She shrugged delicately and her tone was deceptively amused as she replied, "everyone makes mistakes."

But again Benoit scarcely seemed to notice.

"I see now you are far more worthy of my attention than your father."

Gibbs didn't miss the way her expression faltered, just for a moment. But she rallied, pulled her eyes back to their quarry. "But regrettably without the same access to weapons," she pointed out, her voice cold.

"It was not difficult to persuade your father to co-operate." Benoit seemed to warm to his theme. "Especially when he realised how much danger you could be in."

"And I'm sure your friends in the CIA were able to assure him that there would be danger."

"You'd chosen a risky profession Ms Shepard and made the mistake of not telling your father. It would have been simple to have you assigned to a high risk operation. Your father understood that."

Gibbs tightened his hand into a fist and imagined smashing it into Benoit's face. He didn't want to intervene – not yet, but he wasn't sure that Jenny was still in control, or if this was what she had intended all along. He was sure that Fornell was going crazy, but he wasn't about to deny her the opportunity to discover that truth she had sought for so long.

"It was unfortunate that he chose not to live with the consequences of his actions." Gibbs felt his breath stop as Jenny looked away at Benoit's words, a sheen of tears glistening in her eyes.

"You haven't told me anything about my father that I didn't already know," she said in response, "that he would do anything to protect me, that he was honourable." Her hands moved; she brushed a tear away from her cheek. "Do you think your daughter would be able to say the same thing?"

For the first time since they'd entered the room Gibbs knew that she had given him an opening. "Jeanne knows," he said, "I was there when DiNozzo told her. She knows what you do for a living and why she was made the target of an operation to lure you into the open."

"It wasn't necessary to tell her," Benoit said.

"Yes it was," Jenny's voice was low, brittle somehow, "it was very necessary. You took my father from me, you destroyed a good man and now it's my turn. I've taken your daughter from you – made sure she knows what you are, what you've kept hidden all these years. Did you think that it was a coincidence that I found a way to use her?"

Benoit seemed to reel at that and Gibbs couldn't blame him, since that particular revelation made him feel dizzy. "The FBI aren't interested in you," she continued, "give them Lodestone and they'll cut a deal, put you somewhere safe for the rest of your life."

"And Jeanne?"

"It's a little late to think about protecting her isn't it?" But then she sighed, "you'll need to talk to Agent Fornell, he can probably be persuaded to make sure your daughter isn't at risk." The slight inclination of Benoit's head seemed to indicate his agreement, it was enough for Gibbs to let out the breath he'd been holding. But he didn't move as Jenny pushed herself up from her seat.

"He's all yours," she told the two-way mirror where Fornell was watching.

"Ms Shepard," Benoit's voice pulled her attention back to him, "to the victor go the spoils." He told her, "I hope you have the chance to enjoy them."

"Son of a..." Gibbs pushed himself off the wall – certain that could be interpreted as a threat, but Fornell intercepted him.

"Leave it alone," he said firmly. "He isn't getting anywhere near her." Gibbs forced himself to stand down – wanting to believe Tobias was right. He stepped back and realised that in the confusion Jen had slipped from the room.

She hadn't gone far. He watched her for a moment, standing in the shadows just outside the low, non-descript building. But, though he was reassured that she was relatively all right he wasn't ready to approach her.

He had no right to judge her – he'd taken his revenge all those years ago and given no thought to the other people effected by that action. He had killed one man and never considered whether he was a husband, father or brother. He would do it again in a heartbeat. She'd probably say the same thing of her actions.

"Are you unsettled because of what I did, or because I didn't tell you?" She didn't look at him, but he stepped towards her, forcing her to raise her eyes to his. He could see the sadness in her and knew exactly how it felt to gain your revenge and still feel nothing.

But he didn't offer her absolution and she didn't ask for it.

TBC


	18. Respice finem

A/N - so, thanks for the reviews and sorry for the delay in posting this part. I am working on part 19 - so hopefully you won't have to wait so log for an update.

**Part 18**

_respice finem - look back at the end_

Gibbs moved slowly around his basement. His mind caught in an endless loop of not thinking about Jenny – over and over until he hurled his mug against the wall in frustration. Not thinking about Jenny was about as difficult as not breathing.

She hadn't asked for space – she'd demanded it. Every instinct had screamed at him not to comply – but he'd stepped back, caught between what it would mean to fight with her on this. His own cowardice was galling, but she was a woman like no other and holding onto her meant facing darkness. He had no idea if he was equipped for that.

He'd spent the remainder of the day briefing the Director and supporting Fornell as he attempted to shut down Lodestone. With backing for the operation coming from on high the CIA was making co-operative noises, but he wasn't convinced how that would translate on the ground. Morrow had agreed with him that this was a good time to make sure someone was watching Fornell's back. Never one to miss out on an opportunity to gain a political advantage, NCIS' Director had offered to co-ordinate with Interpol so that the rest of Benoit's employees could be picked up.

But that had meant leaving Jen to her own devices – which he knew was dangerous. He had no idea if he could offer what she needed and the idea of failing her was not at all comfortable.

* * *

Tony was a little drunk – or at least getting there. From his seat at the bar he'd flirted with a parade of curvy blondes all the time ignoring calls from McGee, Ziva and Abby. But the impression that he was only out for a good time was a carefully constructed facade.

He was a better liar than he'd imagined. But then he had already proved that.

Wearily he pushed himself up and left a pile of notes behind to cover his bill – the lights, the noise, the carefree hedonism of the people around him it was all too far away from his mood tonight. He had to get out of here.

He knew that the team was worried about him but he couldn't do anything about that, couldn't find the energy to reassure them – it would be more lies anyway.

There had been no contact from Jeanne, not that he had really expected there to be. But that didn't stop him from wondering if she was all right.

He knew she couldn't be, not after finding out that she had been the target of an elaborate sting operation intended to draw out her father; after finding out that everything they shared had been a lie.

He hailed a cab and stumbled inside, closed his eyes and leaning back against the seat as it sped away to the address that had slipped from his mouth. He didn't know what it meant that this was where he was heading. It wasn't the smart thing to do – but he was over being smart for a while.

* * *

Jenny Shepard refilled her glass of bourbon and didn't let herself think too much about how much she was planning to drink tonight.

It was done – finished. She had stood her ground when Benoit had told her what really happened to her father, but now there was no one to see her reaction to the truth.

It was her fault – if she had been honest with her father all those years ago, told him that the CIA had recruited her then he might have reacted differently when La Grenouille had tried to bribe him. The guilt was stifling and the knowledge that she'd finally brought down the people responsible was cold comfort.

She took a long swallow of the bourbon and reflected that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have been left on her own for the evening. But she'd thought she needed to face her ghosts alone, needed silence and darkness to come to terms with the end of a vendetta that had defined her life for so long.

There was nothing left – nothing worth holding onto. She was hollow, empty and maybe it was better that way. She was tired of the damage she inflicted at every turn.

The loud banging at her front door was an interruption she wasn't expecting and though she wasn't in the mood for visitors her curiosity got the better of her anyway.

Tony couldn't remember why this had seemed like a good idea and he was grateful that she didn't ask. The cab driver had seemed surprised when this turned out to be his destination, muttering 'nice digs' as he staggered out of the car and paid the fare. But Jenny Shepard didn't seem surprised at his presence, though he'd seldom seen her look surprised by anything or anyone. How did a person get to be like that he wondered vaguely – before shuddering and deciding he didn't want to know.

The main thing was that she didn't seem inclined to turn him away. For a man who was fairly convinced he had nowhere to go that alone was welcome.

She didn't ask him what he was doing here, what he wanted – just watched him as he gazed into the depths of the coffee she'd poured to sober him up. He knew she was waiting and that he was going to cave and start talking; it was just a question of when.

"You were right," he said at last, "about everything, about me." She didn't reply to that, though she did settle on the chair opposite, watching him across the kitchen table.

The seating reminded him of what he'd seen in the interrogation room earlier; of the way she'd twisted and turned with Benoit; in control but with great emotion on display. He didn't know how Gibbs had allowed her to lead the interrogation, how he'd just stood back and let her tear herself, and the man she was interrogating, apart. There was a trust there that he didn't know if he would ever be capable of himself – and if he was honest, he was surprised Gibbs had managed it.

But she hadn't flinched, hadn't even faltered. She'd used her own weaknesses as ruthlessly as any other weapon at her disposal. He didn't understand what it took to be able to do that but he was terrified that one day he would find out for himself.

"You got the job done," she reminded him quietly.

"By betraying everything,"

"Not everything." He looked up at that and there was a softness in her eyes that he didn't think he deserved. He made himself look away.

"I wanted to be that man," he told her, attention once more fixed on the remains of his coffee. It felt as though he was ripping off the bandages, exposing his wounds. "The man someone like Jeanne could fall in love with."

"But you're not, you know you're not." He nodded slowly, not able to say the words aloud. "There's nothing wrong with who you are – well apart from the leering at any woman with a pulse and the tendency to get into trouble. I blame Jethro for the latter."

"I'm pretty sure I was getting into trouble before I joined his team," he confided.

"I was afraid of that." For the first time he managed a weak smile – but then it faded.

"I could so easily have been in love with her," he confided, "but I couldn't get what you said out of my head."

"Maybe you were just a little in love with the idea of being in love with her." When he looked up she tilted her head, watching him. "Don't panic – but I think you might have grown up."

"Thank you." He wasn't talking about her last comment and for a moment they just watched each other across the table; not friends, not even allies – but a wary recognition of something shared slipping easily into the silence. "You OK?" He asked, a fleeting acknowledgment of what she had been through. It was close as he was prepared to get to mentioning that Gibbs was not here and that he'd known somehow that would be the case.

"These things are relative," she pointed out and he didn't get to say anything more about her evasion because his cell phone rang.

He glanced at caller id and sighed. "It's McGee," he told her, "they're talking turns calling me to make sure I'm OK."

"It might be easier just to speak to him," she pointed out, "before he decides to use the phone to figure out where you are."

"I hadn't thought of that." In a way it was easier that it was McGee, their conversation was brief and he offered up as much reassurance as he could – all the time aware of Jenny watching him.

"The spare room is at the top of the stairs on the left," she told him after he'd promised McGee he would be in the office in the morning. Her tone was neutral, leaving the choice up to him. But he was tired of trying to think two or three moves ahead and the idea of calling a cab and getting himself home was not appealing. He pushed himself to his feet and climbed the stairs, pausing to see her crossing into her study, walking stick in one hand, coffee cup in the other. Clearly only one of them was planning to get any sleep tonight.

* * *

Gibbs' cell phone was ringing as he emerged from the shower. His early morning run, followed by a hot shower had banished the last of the stiffness caused by a night spent sleeping on the basement floor. He was feeling more or less human now, but he knew better than to expect the feeling to last.

"We missed Kort," Fornell announced; the rasp of his voice sounding as though he hadn't slept. "He faked us out – wasn't where Grenouille expected him to be."

Gibbs bit back a curse at the news, "I'll call back," he said abruptly. Putting the phone down he pulled on his clothes. Dressed, he punched a number into the cell, Jenny's number. It was still early but he didn't care if he woke her, or the whole damn house. Though apparently that wasn't a problem.

"Jenny's not answering," he told Tobias when he'd tried the house phone as well as the cell.

"Kort's in the wind Jethro, he's not dumb enough to go after her." He waited a beat before adding resignedly, "I'm on my way, I'll meet you at the house."

Gibbs didn't reply, he was already moving rapidly through the house, grabbing his gun and car keys; only a few short minutes had passed, but he couldn't help thinking that even that might mean the difference between life and death.

Jenny could look after herself, he knew she'd taken out three men in a diner months before. But his gut was coiled tight, the feeling of dread one he couldn't explain but knew he had to take seriously. Everyone's luck ran out sometime – even Jenny Shepard's.

TBC


	19. Memento mori

A./N - well, this is nearly the end of the road. Thanks for the reviews and for staying with me this long. I want to remind you that way back when I started this fic, I mentioned that I wanted to write a darker Jen - er you were warned.

**Part 19**

_Memento mori** - **__Remember you shall die_

He beat Fornell to the house by less than a minute. When Tobias found him he was bending over Stanley, who lay in the doorway, blood pooling from a gun shot wound to his chest. "There's a pulse," Gibbs told him tersely, "call for back up."

"Jethro," he shook off the warning in Tobias' voice. The wound was fresh – Kort was only just ahead of them and he was clearly taking no prisoners. He didn't have time to debate approaches and one of them needed to stay with the injured man until help arrived.

He padded quietly into the house; coming to an abrupt halt when he detected movement on the stairs. Looking up he found himself face to face with his senior field agent; they both lowered their weapons.

Their conversation was rapid and entirely silent. There had only been one shot, according to DiNozzo and, like Gibbs, he was fairly sure that Jenny was in the study.

There was no guilt in DiNozzo's eyes; no embarrassment at being caught clearly having spent the night here. Instead his expression was alert and focused; he seemed relieved at the arrival of backup.

In a strange way Gibbs was grateful that Jenny hadn't been completely alone last night – that Tony had been with her. Whatever she had said to him seemed to have worked. Despite looking a little crumpled, he seemed lighter somehow; like a man who was starting to make peace with his actions. Gibbs envied him that much.

Tony gestured with his hand and when Gibbs nodded in agreement he moved slowly down the stairs and out of the front door. With any luck he'd be able to get to the study from the side entrance to the house.

As Gibbs reached the doorway of the study he took in the sight of Jenny and Kort standing face to face, their weapons drawn and pointed at each other. It gave every impression of being a stalemate; one that he was about to step into.

Until Jenny lowered her weapon.

She set it down on the desk, before turning to the drinks' cabinet – her back to the man still holding a gun. "I'd offer you a drink," she said as she poured a healthy shot of bourbon into a glass, "but I'm not feeling particularly hospitable."

"Celebrating your victory?" Kort sneered. She shrugged, turning back to face him.

"You could call it that." Gibbs shivered without really knowing why. This wasn't right – she wasn't stupid, or reckless. But Kort smiled,

"Go ahead," he said, gesturing with his gun as she took another swallow of alcohol. "You're only going to make this easier."

"It's never easy." She tilted her head, watching him through narrowed eyes; like a weary lioness dealing with a young upstart. "Tell me, are you following orders, or acting on your own initiative Mr Kort?"

"Does it make a difference?"

"Only because I'd like to know who's here to kill me. The organ grinder or…"

"I'm the one who will be pulling the trigger." She nodded, apparently not surprised by his response.

"I don't know how you imagined this going down – but I'm not planning to beg for my life." She flicked her gaze away from Kort and Gibbs sucked in a breath, recognising the expression on her face. It was the look of a woman who believed she had fallen into the abyss. "You'll actually be doing me a favour." Even Kort couldn't hide his surprise at that, but she didn't wait for him to ask. "After all," she added, with almost nonchalance, "it turns out suicide runs in my family."

"Don't play games," Kort growled.

But Gibbs knew that she wasn't. His fingers felt numb as they were wrapped around his weapon. He knew Jenny far better than Kort, could read her well enough to know she was serious. Deadly so.

"I thought you'd worked it out – you were the one who mentioned my mother to Agent Gibbs. She was ill when she killed herself, dying in a particularly unpleasant way. It turns out the reason she drove her car off the road that night has a habit of running in families. So you see, you aren't the only one with nothing left to lose."

For a moment there was absolute silence and then Kort laughed.

Gibbs couldn't move, he couldn't even blink. It was too much even to think about the extent to which the universe, his universe, had just tilted on its axis. The woman he was looking at now was one he recognised – he'd spent hours with her over these last weeks. There had been times when she had provoked him to great anger and at other times she'd roused a passion and desire in him that he had long since believed himself incapable of.

She'd asked him to find out who killed her father and he'd failed her – she'd discovered the truth for herself. The only other thing she had asked of him was that he didn't try to save her. He thought he'd understood what that request really meant, but now it was clear that he had understood nothing at all. He never had.

His training was so deeply ingrained that even as he was reeling from her revelation Gibbs didn't move. But Kort did. Still laughing he stepped out of sight, leaving Gibbs with no shot and trying to decide whether he should make his presence known. Where the hell was DiNozzo?

"Your old man must be turning in his grave."

"I'm sure he would be, if we hadn't dug him up."

Gibbs might not have been able to see Kort, but Jenny could. The change in her stance, the way she tilted her head up told him that Kort had moved. He read enough in her body language to know that the CIA agent had decided there was nothing left to talk about and that Jenny knew it too.

She looked down once at the corner of the desk where her gun lay within reach, but Gibbs knew that she wasn't going to reach for it.

He moved, but it was too late.

Gibbs watched as DiNozzo kicked the weapon away from Kort's body and bent to feel for a pulse. He looked up and shook his head and Gibbs couldn't say that he regretted the fact that it had been a kill shot. Even if he hadn't been the one to make it.

He was resolutely not looking at the woman who was still standing by the desk. "It was a good shot," he told DiNozzo. "Get your report written up and then go home and get some rest."

"On it boss."

In the seconds since DiNozzo had killed Kort he'd realised something important. He'd realised that he couldn't lose another woman from his life; couldn't watch this woman die. It was easier to cut his losses now, than face that prospect.

As he turned around their eyes met and he saw with absolute clarity that she knew it too – that she'd known it all along. It just didn't change anything – for either of them.

Without a single word he turned and strode from the room. He had no intention of looking back but, even if he had, he knew that his abrupt, angry exit wouldn't have surprised her either.

TBC


	20. Semper fidelis

A/N – for the last time, thank you for the reviews and thank you for sticking with me all of these months. I think I've made it clear that I wanted to write a darker Jen, but over the course of writing this story it's occurred to me that I've used it as an opportunity to tie up a few more loose ends. I wanted to give Jen and Tony a more interesting relationship – my first NCIS fic was a Jen /Tony piece after all and I wanted to play around with what happened to his character in season 4. I wanted to make Jen a worthy adversary for La Grenouille and of course I wanted her to win, despite the consequences, or maybe because of them.

Finally, there are no words to thank Elflordsmistress for her wisdom and support. I never would have made it to the end of this fic without her and it wouldn't have been what it is without her.

I never say never, but I think this might be everything I have to say about Ms Shepard.

Morgan xx

**Part 20**

_Semper fidelis - always faithful_

It would be fair to describe the days and weeks that followed as 'difficult'. Everything felt a little wrong, off-balance. Tony was more than aware that he had contributed to that sense of things being out of kilter, he just couldn't bring himself to care.

It shouldn't have surprised him that the CIA couldn't even manage to turn on itself quietly and the bringing down of a long term black op, with the attendant arrests of those who had crossed the line, inevitably caused something of a media furore. He was relieved that NCIS' role, and his in particular, wasn't part of the circus. The FBI had claimed the credit and for once Morrow let them take it. But the use of an independent advisor – especially one who was a long-term critic of the organisation concerned wasn't something that could be swept under the carpet.

For all that she was a best selling author and something of a cyber-space legend, Jenny did nothing to fan this fire. Instead she issued a bland statement saying she was consulting on a case overseas and promptly vanished from sight.

Tony supposed he should be grateful she had saved them all the trouble of deciding whether they were going to maintain contact with her when things between her and Gibbs seemed so irrevocably over. Or perhaps he was the only one to be spared that particular dilemma.

The rest of the team didn't seem sorry about her absence. Even Abby only shrugged and observed that "she wasn't right for Gibbs anyway." A conclusion Tony didn't exactly disagree with – even though he thought that perhaps that was the point.

But as he struggled to find his feet within the team once more he couldn't help but realise how much the mission had changed him; how much Shepard had affected both he and Gibbs.

His colleagues noticed and blamed Jenny for the need to readjust, to find their working balance once more. He came to her defence when he could – until he realised that she wouldn't care, would probably tell him to use what was to hand and let her worry about what people thought about her.

But the knowledge that she was sick, dying even, and that she was alone with all of that darkness wouldn't let him rest.

Everything began and ended with Jenny Shepard. He didn't understand why it was she who haunted him when it should have been Jeanne. But if she was under his skin this much he couldn't even begin to imagine what she'd done to Gibbs.

Even if he wasn't brave enough to track her down he at least had the courage to share his fears with the one person he know wouldn't hesitate in reaching out to her. It was Ducky who found her, who offered what Tony couldn't and Gibbs wouldn't.

Ducky was quiet, but firm and he didn't lay down the law very often. So, despite their discomfort when he announced that they were going to attend a small ceremony to mark the re-internment of Jasper Shepard's remains, none of them were willing to refuse. Mind you, none of them were foolish enough to mention it to Gibbs either, though there was no doubt that Ducky had included him in the invitation. It was anyone's guess whether he would show up.

* * *

Jenny wished that the sun wasn't shining. But even she couldn't control the weather and though she was hiding from the light behind dark sunglasses, still she shivered. She managed a smile as Cole reached out and wrapped his hand around hers – lending her a little of his warmth. She was glad that they had agreed that Gigi shouldn't come with them, she didn't want to connect the memory of this day with one of the few people that she still cared about.

"You don't have to do this." Cole was in full-blown protective mode and she veered between being amused and irritated by him. But she was grateful as well – because he'd let her take Gigi out of school and disappear to Europe with her. He'd given her an escape route when she had desperately needed to run away and trusted her with his daughter when she doubted her ability to be around anyone without doing them harm.

A few weeks playing on a beach with a child who saw every day as a glorious adventure had helped – but it had stung as well. A poignant reminder of the life that she wasn't going to have. She was going to run again – was thinking of closing everything down and heading somewhere warm, Mexico, maybe Costa Rica – somewhere no one would find her, where no one would know her fate. But first she had to face this day.

"Don't worry so much," she told him lightly – leaning against him as he slipped an arm around her waist and they started to move towards the quiet shady spot where the service would be held.

"I worry about you."

"I'm OK," it was a lie and not a very convincing one. But he let it go – he'd been doing that a lot lately and though she hated it, there were times when she was grateful as well. But she couldn't think about that now and her step faltered for the briefest of moments when she saw Ducky standing before them.

"My dear," his gentleness was disarming and she let herself be pulled into a loose embrace.

"Thank you for coming." He nodded solemnly and backed away from her – his gaze turning professional as it ran over her. People seemed to be doing that more often these days – looking for signs of her imminent demise she supposed.

"Everyone is here, young Anthony has been most concerned about you – if you get a chance you might reassure him that you aren't about to expire on the spot."

"Is Agent Gibbs here?" Cole's voice was hard, challenging and she fought down another shiver at his question. She'd had to tell him everything, including what had happened with Jethro and he was seething with indignation on her behalf. His version of right and wrong, good and bad was remarkably simplistic – despite all the years they'd known each other. She'd tried to persuade him that Gibbs wasn't a cruel man, that he had reasons for the decision to walk away from her. But Cole remained stalwartly angry and disappointed on her behalf.

"Not at the moment," Ducky replied. She nodded, not surprised he'd stayed away – it was better that he had. "Jenny, you know…"

"It's really all right," she told him, before glancing over to Cole as well – resolute in her attempt to convince both men that she spoke the truth.

She didn't wait for a reply, stepping around them and moving forward; taking her place beside the casket where the remains of her father lay. She was burying him for the second time and this time she hoped that the act would bring her a measure of peace.

* * *

It was a strange gathering – not really a service, certainly not a celebration of a life well lived. But still there were a considerable number of people there.

Gibbs didn't recognise everyone as he slipped in at the last moment to stand at the back of the group. He saw his team, but deliberately stayed away from them. Across the sea of faces he exchanged a short nod of greeting with Fornell – identifying the woman beside him as an Assistant Director of the CIA.

Finally, though he had resisted for as long as he could, he turned his attention to Jenny. He couldn't see her face – but he didn't need to see her when he knew that he could read her body language. The question was how he'd react to what he learned from his observations.

She was tense, but resolute. The darkness and despair he'd seen in her on that day in the study was there still – but carefully locked away.

Garrett remained at her side – his stance clearly protective. The wave of jealousy the sight provoked was resolutely pushed down and instead he narrowed his focus. Despite Garrett's proximity Jen was maintaining a subtle distance between them. He wondered if Garrett noticed, if he knew about her illness, if he understood why she was keeping him at arm's length now.

The bitter heat of the sheer senselessness of her fate welled up in his throat. He knew exactly what she was trying to do – to keep herself away from everyone. He even knew that she thought she'd succeeded. But she'd failed to realise how many of the people around her today were here out of loyalty to her. Stanley was in a wheelchair and looked as though he should still be in hospital, Cynthia was pale and upset – and he couldn't quite believe that she was here, despite her betrayal.

His team stood with her because Ducky had insisted – but his old friend and DiNozzo watched Jenny just as carefully as Garrett did. It was remarkable – she kept her distance, asked nothing of them and still none of them could let her go.

The only person who seemed not to realise it was Jenny herself.

Once the casket was lowered into the ground people started to slip away, but he lingered still; watching as Jenny remained standing by the grave. Garrett was watching her as well, clearly uncertain whether she needed to be given space. No one seemed brave enough to approach her – he certainly wasn't. Yet it still surprised him when, with shoulders squared and the disbelieving looks of the rest of the team following his progress, it was DiNozzo who stepped up to her and waited respectfully by her side until she was ready to leave.

Tony didn't touch her, he didn't even walk by her side; instead he matched her pace from just a step behind. Gibbs sucked in a breath at the sight, forced to acknowledge that DiNozzo was the only one who'd really got it right. He didn't know how or when it had happened but the man he was watching now was light years distant from the bundle of problems he'd inherited from Baltimore PD. He'd never been more proud of him than in that moment.

He tracked their progress all the way back to cars and she didn't look in his direction once – or give any indication that she knew he was there. But Gibbs was convinced that she was aware of his presence. She was too good not to be.

He was so busy watching Jen he didn't notice that he wasn't on his own any longer. "Jethro," Ducky began, but then fell silent, not even trying to finish whatever he'd been planning to say.

"I know Duck," he offered, even though he'd prefer to pretend that he didn't. Although pretending hadn't been working out so well for him lately.

* * *

There was no gathering, no wake and he'd carefully noted that Garrett had left in a separate car. By the time he reached her house there was no sign of Jenny. But the front door opened before he reached it and he was admitted by a man he didn't recognise who informed him coolly that, "Ms Shepard was waiting for him in the lounge". Apparently she'd been expecting him.

She was standing by the windows, watching the sunlight fade across the garden. The dying light was soft and golden and as it fell around her she seemed almost to glow.

The word, the name for what he felt for her vibrated in his consciousness but he couldn't give it voice. Recognising it for what it was would do nothing to help either of them. He didn't have the courage and she didn't have the time.

"I'd like you to say whatever you've come to say and then leave." She didn't turn around – but the dismissal rang strong and clear. He even understood the tactic, though he wasn't half the strategist she was. She wasn't going to engage him in conversation – just let him have his say and leave. But it wasn't that easy, even if he followed the path she'd lain for him, he'd still leave a piece of himself behind.

"How long have you known?"

"That it was a possibility? A long time. I found out for sure when I was in hospital in California."

"How long's a long time?"

"I overheard my father talking about it with a Doctor when I was 12."

"Did he know you'd heard him?" At least that question made her turn around and the look in her eyes answered his question. How she kept her secrets. "God Jen!"

"Don't!" He took a step towards her and though she backed away he was faster. She stilled at his touch, his hands lightly gripping her forearms. "I don't need your pity," she ground out.

"You don't need any of us – do you? What's the plan Jen – now Kort isn't around to finish you off and La Grenouille isn't in any position to come looking for you? Some other enemy? Another diner somewhere and hope this time they're better shots?"

"Actually, a quiet little clinic in Switzerland," she snapped back. "You should know I always have a back up plan."

"Is that what I was? A back up plan?" The flickering pain in her eyes was enough to tell him that his words had stung her. The broken rasp of her voice just added salt to his wounds.

"You weren't part of any plan Jethro. You think even I could come up with something so damn hopeless? Meeting you now, with a death sentence hanging over me, knowing how you of all men would react to the truth?"

She pulled back and this time he let her go though his fingers itched to gather her up in his arms and just hold on. But he'd come here to end things properly – not to get drawn back into something that he knew could destroy him. He'd always made a mess of endings – his ex-wives, even Hollis, they'd all left him – though they would probably say he'd driven them to it, pushed them away. But not this time.

"How long do you have?" He made himself ask the question.

"Ten years, maybe longer."

"Ten years?" He repeated, incredulous.

"There was a break-through not long after my mother died. The treatments are better, it's generally possible to delay the onset of the symptoms – a form of remission."

It changed nothing for him and they both knew it. But it changed things for her, if she was prepared to let it. "Don't run yet." He told her, watching for a sign that he'd guessed right. "I know you think you have to and maybe you do, but you don't have to go yet."

"I'll bear that in mind." She tapped her walking stick on the ground for a moment and then raised her chin to look him dead in the eye. "Goodbye Jethro and thank you."

"What for?"

"You know what for." He nodded; the emotion of the moment robbing him of words.

"Bye Jen." She turned back to the windows and he took one more look at her – fixing her in his mind as she was in this moment, before turning to leave.

His footsteps echoed on the hard wood floors as he crossed the hallway, the last of the sunlight slanting across his path. He reached the front door, his hand brushing against the cold metal of the door-knob. Just before he turned it and stepped out into a life without her, the finality of the decision caught up with him and forced him to stop and think. When had he become a man who burnt his bridges like this? Why was he trying to apply the product of his experience to a situation that was like no other, to a woman like no other?

He was still standing there, torn, irresolute and every other thing that implied weakness, when she emerged a good ten minutes later.

"Jethro?" There was genuine surprise in her voice, she hadn't expected him still to be here and if he was honest, he just as shocked. When he looked over at her he could see the sorrow in her eyes that she'd refused to acknowledge in his presence and it was that which drew forth the words that had echoed in his mind these last tortuous minutes.

"Since Shannon died none of my relationships have lasted five years Jen, let alone ten."

"I see," she leaned against the bottom of the stairs, her head tilting as she considered his words, her eyes never leaving his face. "Well, that less than stellar track record aside, it sounds as though we are worrying about something there is no chance of you being around for."

It wasn't an answer. It resolved nothing. But it was a beginning of sorts, not an ending.

He didn't move and neither did she. Instead they stood watching each other, all that could be and all that was stretching between them; with the dusk and the shadows.

The End


End file.
